Honeysuckle
by Shoysrock
Summary: Tarrant suffers alone in the hat-room, haunted by the events past and to come in that day that will change his life. Stayne has every intent to break the painted-man into moaning, violated pieces...and does. Stayne/Tarrant. Rape, foot fetish, the works!:o
1. 1 Foot

**A/N: This is the most terrifying and sexual slash fic I've written so far. And 2 more chapters too!**

**Here are the warnings for this first chapter:  
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**_Pairing: _Ilosovic Stayne raping and dubious-consenting Tarrant Hightopp.**

**_Setting: _Flashbacks to the dungeon torture session and the hat-room while Alice is with the bandersnatch.  
**

**_Rating: _Graphic mature M, R-rated.**

**_Warnings it contains: _Bondage, humiliation, whipping, foot fetish, feet rape, non-con/dubious consent and masturbation.**

**_Other Notes: _Some made-up words, along with a few small references to the original source material of the Lewis Carrol's books.  
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* * *

The Hatter knew the Knave well enough. He was cruel, he destroyed his home, murdered his people, the right-hand man of the bloody big head, and continued to torture him with rude interruptions and leering gazes. In fact, the leering had been getting worse…even more disgusting was what he dared not to think of how he was looking at him, when he was in the dungeon…

He sipped his tea, taking a break from hatting. The queen was in no hurry he figured nor was his creativity quite top-notch.

"How would you like it if YOU were forced to make buggering hats for a berggering queen?" He lauded aloud, his eyes flashing orange crimson. His fingers twitched without him noticing it, a bit of tea splashing over the side to the table. The subject of making hats and the childish monster of a lady was strong in his head. Strong because that is what he tried to focus on to divert fear into anger.

Oh, not just any old fear. His scalp tingled at the memory of the black hand snaking into his hair, pulling at it.

_"Tell me Mr. Hightopp, you are a clever man with clever ways about the land." The commanding voice began with the sharp tug at his hair. "You're clever enough to know when something's going on and when something's not. So, clever-man, and I certainly know you ARE clever…where is Alice?"_

_ Tarrant hung from the ceiling by shackles. His arms were up, the metal clasps around his arms, wrist, the chains from the ceiling suspending the man. _

_ He knew the wretched man was eyeing him. The hairs on his back, stripped bare the clothes at a heap at the cell door, were risen. Madmen were not without uncanny sense of scrutiny and paranoia. It was as if the Knave's gaze shot physical sensation every scope of flesh he looked at. The particulars of his chains were not helpful, stretching his lithe form like a hung mass of butchered meat. _

_ Helpless, soon to bleed for his answers._

_ "Oh knave, your entire speech is like a portmanteau!" He giggled. After all what was a little pain? He would never tell. Perhaps if the mood was right he could be excited, thrilled at pain! The man giggled again, earning the Knave to respond with a huff of frustration._

_ "You will tell me, hatter."The knave hissed behind him, a particular menace behind the voice. The hatter remained strong however, smiling with confidence as he saw the man go to the left side, running his hands over the rack of torture implements._

Tarrant wasn't smiling now. A sip of the tea revealed it was not properly twinkled yet, nor was it of a delicious variety. Not emerald or sapphire, but spicy cinnamon ruby-red, pungent with rosehips and the bramblebun variety of black leaves. Tarrant wrinkled his nose at the queen's signature blend, but it was the only evening tea he was provided for today. Any tea was good tea. Any chance breathing was good breathing.

The twilight was revealed through the lattice windows. Of course he had fear, especially for Alice. She would find the sword, yes, and they would get out of here. His sweet Alice had all grown up and would take these hardships, and find she IS Alice. And with Mally he knew she would not fail. All he had to do was sit here and wait, biding his time with some purpose. At last, hatmaking…but here, no. But he must, that he knew. The queen and that…knave must not follow any suspicions that the favorite Um had a very different name.

_THWACK_

_ The giggle died in his throat for the moment, naturally-painted lips frowning as he squeaked. A sharp bit of pain had appeared at his back at the same sound of something supple and leather. That dashing genius mind of him soon surmised it was a sort of whip. Tarrant squirmed slightly as the pain quickly disappeared and he once again giggled._

_ "Oh…" He laughed out, eyes closed somehow finding this whole affair funny. "How savage!"_

_ Tarrant expected another lash again quickly to silence his anti-society outburst, but instead there was a pause. _

_ In such a good mood he turned his head as far as he could to see the reaction. The Knave, as soon as the clownish face smiled at him, turned his softened, strange face into an intimidating scowl. The grinning hatter chuckled as he tried to decipher the meaning of the non-nasty face that the Knave was so concerned about that he had quickly made his usual nasty face again._

He stared into his tea. The depths of the rusty liquid was translucent and clear-through. Impeccably clear, unlike when he brewed at home. There usually would be the bits of leaves and flavors about, leaving a grit at his teeth. Here tea was left to be perfect. It certainly tasted 'perfect'.

It also tasted a bit oily, perhaps from the natural oil of the rosehips. It reminded him of the scent of Stayne's hair. Oily, musky, black and trailing. Strange against his cheek. And that voice was oilier…slick with maliciousness…

_ "So you want to play games. I expected this." His enemy breathed in a voice that sounded like oil and nails. The scowl intensified when the Knave darted his eyes quickly to his pale back, planning where next to hit. Tarrant's neck was starting to hurt and already the complications of the Knave's body language was starting to egg at him. That is, besides the pain that was to come._

_ The hatter moved back, staring at the cell door ahead. Where the leather strip hit him it was tingling, and not feeling quite nice due to the ray of cold pale sunlight providing the only light here. The light he was sure illuminated his back, causing a very creative limp-formed shadow on the straw and stone floor. _

_ "Mmm…oh wait…that's me!" He muttered aloud at realizing the shadow was his. How stupid of him. How absent minded was…_

_ THAWWWK._

_ The burn came again. Left shoulder blade. Searing pain disappearing in 3 second with just the dull reminder. He exhaled from his nose sharply, biting his lip. It was time to be serious perhaps, or laugh it off again, or something, because he was having trouble making up his mad little mind…_

_ THAWWWK. THWACK. THWHICK THWAK THWACK._

_ The sound certainly didn't start with the letter M._

Tarrant sat up straight sharply. The dull pain came back, softly reminding him of the events that happened many hours earlier. The grin of disgust turned into remembering pain again. The oily red tea no longer pleased him despite the promise of life-giving caffination and sugar. He rightly stretched his arm out straight directly from his side, and poured the offensive liquid straight into one of the many unfinished hats strewn about on the table and floor.

"It was an ugly hat anyways." He glared at the hat, so red and black, crisp felt and rouge cloth rose-adorned. Now it will forever smell like slick red tea. Orange tinged his pupils at the onset of rage.

"Bad hat! Very naughty hat, you slippery eel of burgeoning…viciousness!"

He tipped it in the air, splattering tea to the floor as he slumped back in his chair. With an angled leg he snapped his foot up, kicking it away. It made a familiar sound against the wall.

THWAK.

_He was no longer laughing. The Knave was probably sick of his giggling-ploy. It certainly must be, he thought, as there was barely any pause between the whippings._

_ His head hung down a bit because he was arching and breathing hard. The pain was all over his back. He either had to breathe or to gag a scream, resulting in heavy panting cries. Low cries, steadily rising in pitch. Tarrant was not having any of that yet. He needed to concentrate on something since the lashes stifled his ability to even remember giggling, which always served to previously distract from problems. Mind-numbing physical pain though was different than mentally-numbing logistics and biting words._

_ "In with the…good air…out…with the…bad…ahh…rrr…NNN! MAALLY!" The raspy chanting let loose his mind. He called out for his dear friend when his mind slipped. Some days it slips easier than other. The 'persuasion' today though was testing his resolve. Only after he noticed the Knave stopped did he comprehend thoughts besides breathing, his drying throat, and how weak he was appearing. He would have felt more aware of his cries of humiliation if Alice was here. However she was not, which he was thankful for. Dear Alice…_

_ The panting Hatter raised his head, unclenching his fists and shaking his head like a dog. Sweat flew off of his body and he returned, taking deep breaths. The Knave he heard stalked around, so blinking awake he found the tall man right in front of him. Tarrant dared to look him up and down._

_ He was caressing his black leather strap, slick with sweat and a bit of blood. The foe was intimidating in all his glorious blackness, save for the craftsmanship of the dark metal tunic and the red stripes, like a zigzag pattern of blood, covering his arms. Tarrant watched the hands for a moment, feeling a little queasy at how gingerly he was stroking the whip. Moving up he wished then he shouldn't have. Stayne was smiling that sick grin of his, the black hair framing his one-eyed face. Tarrant knew his painful responses then was what he wanted._

_ "So you DO beg. I was almost thinking you were too insane to lose such…dignity." Hatter, in a less hurt mood would have either laughed or glared at such an insult. "Alas you now have a new problem. The more I hurt you, the more I will enjoy it. You don't want me to enjoy this do you?"_

_ No, he did not. He did not want this villainous man who ruined his life to take pleasure out of ruining his life further._

_ "So." He stepped in, towering over his still-heaving body. The hatter's heart was pounding again from the Knave invading his personal bubble, wishing he could catch his breath faster. Being so exposed without shirt and hat was already driving him insane; that eye again, boring into his body, piercing his heart. _

_ He couldn't take it anymore, the hatter knew his limits…sometimes. This sometime was right now because his mind, slipping away, was curling in on itself. His eyes shut and turned away, daring not to see the collar of the Knave's shirt that was his eye level. His toes curled in his shoes as he hung limp above the ground recovering and being frightened by him._

_ "Tell me…Tarrant…" His oily voice was right in his ear! Tarrant stiffened and winced more as the stringy locks\tickled his cheek, and the hiss and breath at him. Its tone already seemed to violate his first name._

_ "…where is Alice…just tell me, and you will not have to cause me any more enjoyment from your predicament."_

_ The snake tongue had darted out. Tarrant's eyes opened wide at the sensation of a wet that had went and lathered his ear from lobe to the top. Stayne's free hand had grabbed him forcefully by the chin and shoved his head to the side. With a squeak Tarrant could only react, at the moment, with sound and wide eyes as the Knave licked his ear, again. The orange man trembled under the hand that held his head in place so the heavy Knave could worship his left-side. _

"S-Stop…"

Tarrant whimpered aloud. The click of the door however woke him from the sudden trance of terror. He blinked, and realized that he had almost fallen over completely in his chair, except his head, to the left, was smushed at the edge of the table, crushing his ear and jaw. He realized he had ground in, the memory and tingling of a ravaged cheekbone from a wooden table, enhancing the horror.

His mind was truly slipping.

Sharp as an arrow he sat up once again. Horror, familiar these days, plagued his face. He rubbed himself to wake out of the terror and to rearrange the invisible imprints of lips and saliva from his pale drawn countenance.

Trembling again. Memory again. Standing up and leaning against the table as the other side of his madness came forth. Hands curled at the wood

"How dared the laddie…how dare…Stayne…"

_The Knave pulled back, hearing a hiss. The hatter had a feral curl of his sweet lips, tea-stained teeth peeking out. Tarrant was tensing up like a trapped dog about to snap the fox's neck._

_ The grip tightened on the jaw as he studied his beautiful gorgeous eyes. They turned into a flaming orange, a sign that the other side was appearing._

_ Indeed it did. The mad hatter wrenched his head free and went out to bite him, snapping into the air roaring in his peculiar raspy war cry._

_ "YOU'LL NEVER FIND HER. I'M WARNIN' YE, YOU DARE TO TOUCH HER AND I'LL GIVE YOU TEN NEW PLACES FOR YOUR TO PUT YOUR EYE PATCH COLLECTION! YOU FRUCKING BANGSTRANDING YIPTUPPIN'…RUTGRET!" _

_ Once done he proceeded to raise his knees and swing about, aiming to kick the Knave who so rudely tortured him. However wisely Stayne moved back, remaining unfazed in his smile as the hatter's odd shoes only made it to scrape and push, with no effect, on the Knave's body. Well, to some effect that is._

_ "Defiance doesn't get you out of here." He cooed._

_ "OFF WITH BOTH OF YOUR BLOODY BIG HEADS!"_

_ "Since you refuse so far, I should have whipped the entirety of your body. Perhaps I should enhance the disgust you feel, it seems to be working into a far-better response than calling out for a stupid rat-girl…"_

_ He raged, fumed. Alice would be protected. Alice will destroy the queen and restore peace. The Knave shall die a painful death, yes, that would be nice. Perhaps now, if he would get out of these shackles, he would tear him to pieces…that would be nice. Very nice._

_ Stayne's large hands grappled the foot that was trying to kick his legs. It wriggled like a caught fish in his hands, as Tarrant had a new objective of the leverage to kick his face. As his leg was stretched and held, he in fact started to feel more helplessness. His body momentum wasn't as strong, with the foot and leg trapped in the grasp of the wet-lipped Knave. In fact, as he found from his increased wiggling he was losing strength. The pain was starting to bother him, hurting the strained skin and muscle. His arms had been suspended for a little while. His weight was lifted from the strain of his arms and his right foot and leg. It used to be just the foot, but the slick glove had gone up and down his calves inside his pants…_

_ "……………" Tarrant stared, ceasing the wiggling to breathe. It was indeed a hand up and down his calves, caressing flesh and sock. The other cradling his magnificent heel, the hand-up-the-pant-leg gracefully sliding down the shin bone…luring the flummoxed frustrated candy man to the slight smirk of pleasure on the offensive man's face._

"You dared…you did…vicious man…eel…snake-fingers…soft and hard…"

Tarrant clawed the table with stubby fingers as he moaned his woes. His hip against the spot where a smushed face was earlier. Memories driving him insane…though he already was.

"Am I finally gone…mad?" His voice no longer matched the orange in his eyes. In fact it was squeaking again, trembling, shaking as his entire body was.

Memory again, the slipping of his mind had let through. His foot tingled, the bruise of the bite stinging him. Grounding his feet did nothing to ease the sensation as he leaned against the table.

Despite his strange way of dealing with emotions, a sly blush crept to his cheeks. The tingling wasn't meaning pain.

_Those nimble fingers, so relaxed in groping the leg now began the removal of the shoe. Hatter stared, lulled and seduced by the lack of strength, the odd constricting position he was in, and the feeling of his shoe untied and pulled off. It fell to the floor causing a refreshing sound besides breathing, sounds of distress and THWACK._

_ Tarrant wasn't having any of that. The fire still blazed thanks to the inappropriate behavior that was happening to his legs. He began kicking, grunting with exertion. Both hands now held the foot trying to keep it steady. _

_ "Whaddaya doin', Ilosivic?" Tarrant huffed. He would attempt to bluff now, considering his leg strength was failing him. _

_ "I will get what I want any way I please, hatter." The kicking stopped, so he now tore off the musty sock._

_ "Like I said, you'll never get an answer to that. Yer wastin' your time." He gave a dry chuckle, but it lacked intimidation. He didn't think the Knave would be mad enough to come up with a torture involving the caressing of a man's foot._

_ Toes wiggled in the grasp of the gloves. The Knave paused, scrutinizing each perfect toe as he brought out a handkerchief. Tarrant rightfully and feeling more frightfully hoped it would be a more mundane torture. He could survive without toenails, after all. _

_ The Knave spit on the linen, making it wet as he began cleaning the foot. Tarrant blushed not expecting something so gently minstrating his toes could cause such a…feeling. His captor was focused on the task, spitting and wiping bits of debris, rubbing and cleaning the foot._

_ "I hope the s-stink…" The hatter paused as a weird sensation turned his stomach. "…won't come off! Serves ye right…" another huff, even more fake than the last one._

_ "I'm actually surprised." Stayne's voice was low again in that tone. Oily, weasly. "I expected your feet to be in worse condition. You are a quite a clean man, despite not washing your clothing often."_

_ Tarrant learned this was a bad thing, that is being clean and washing every few days. He had even taken a bath that morning._

_ The last of the blaze flickered away as panic became the staple thought. Fear, and tickling, tingling suction._

_ Stayne gave one last smile at his handiwork, then to the pursed lips of the Hatter, and leaned in, taking the massive toe into his mouth._

Out of the trance again. Tarrant had fallen, his foot failing him.

He laid there on the floor, discovering he was heavily breathing to get enough air. He had broken into a sweat, his palms in the ragged gloves damp. In fact he noticed, opening his eyes from being tightly shut, he was shaking all over.

"Stayne…" He belted out as he heaved over, staring at the ceiling. His leg was restless, the foot attached curling and flexing in his shoe. A foot that was cleaner than the other.

"What…is happening…to me? Yes, yes I am mad. You damnable yiptuppin', driving me to the BRINK, the cusp crust brim rim edge threshold boundary perimeter pantanmener! If only she w-was here…I can stop…thinking…that…"

_His porcelain doll moaned. Lips and tongue greedily suckled his foot. The length of tongue prevailed in gathering responses. How the Knave loved the twitching toe at his cheek, the taste of the flesh, the gnawing of the foot-meat. It served the session well, providing his need for the taste of the pretty man's flesh and cries._

_ The hatter had long since lost the fight. Every breath was shallow and shaking, his head moving about, eyes opening and closing unintentionally fluttering his eyelashes. All the while his face flushed into a creamy pink, a slow-cooking bundle in his pants, wet lips and lolling eyes. _

_ Tarrant Hightopp had been beaten by maddening pleasure._

_ It was indeed torture. His foot provided an unlikely weakness. Not only was his foot a virgin to the caresses of a warm mouth and white nibbling teeth but it was being administered by a man who, previously a villain, was now a sexually-intimidating villain. Two sources of pleasure came from the leg so currently being abused. Either he kept his eyes open, dizzily and needingly looking at the dark man's sensual lips and hands engulf his feet and fleshy leg meat…or he could shut his eyes, the sensation of touch intensifying so much that he would throw his head back, letting out moans and whimpers._

"F-feet don't begin w-with the letter MMMMMMmmmmmnnnn."

The hatter kicked his aching feet as he began rubbing and hugging himself, wandering his hands that were unknown to him as if they were in response to protect himself, or to touch himself.

_ His arousal betrayed him. It was swollen enough to cause tight constricting pain against the buttons. The very thought of the fact he was enjoying this foot pampering this much was a numbing-mental pain that giggling would usually fix. However, breathless and writhing in the air provides no room for giggling. _

_ Stayne had long since pulled up a chair. He sat, his legs and lap open as he nipped the flesh. His eye darted up the leg, lingering on the bulge, past the kicking and twisting un-abused other leg, up the god-like chest…to the moaning, weakened face._

_ Tarrant, enslaved by a foot. Trembling and gasping his hot tea-breath with a tiny moan accompanying each exhale. Stayne bit on the side of the lenient foot, growing stiffer and a small moan himself at the bucking the hatter gave._

_ He knew the hatter was not fully aware of how extreme his reactions were. The lust had coursed through his system that had whipped the mad mind into fluffy white pudding. Tarrant had actually bucked into the air, thrusting the trapped cock into an invisible body, all from a toe-hickie that sent the signal to his brain. _

_ "A-Alice…" Hatter labored his moan. It was like a muted howl, for he crowed his head up and wailed the ecstasy that the Knave, suckling the bruise, caused._

_ "How sweet of you." Stayne chuckled in response, blowing warm breath across the wiggling wet toes. Tarrant was currently in a twisted version of heaven, of requited sexual completion, foot worship, and Alice in his head._

_ The voice iced into his ears like a shard of glass. Alice left his thoughts and the sickness in his stomach came back again. However the pleasure was proving too much, already built up in his body. It made his responses slow, stifling the madness. Made him weak. _

_ "D-damn..."He began with a whine. Stayne smile at the face the dear hatter had because of what he was doing. "…damn you Stayne…eee…"_

_ Tarrant whimpered wishing he hadn't ended his curse with a whine. He couldn't help it, the damned-Knave had stolen his ability to keep control of his vocal chords. All with a mouth._

_ Stayne was pleased. The succulent hatter was right where he wanted him._

Burning. His hands unbuttoned his own shirt, snaking all over his chest, avoiding his stinging back. He curled on his side whimpering pitifully. He chewed his bowtie as he relived the moments of weakness in excruciating detail. The hands had a mind of their own now, lost to madness and despair.

_Tarrant looked down after whimpering pleasure and terror to the sky. He had voiced much discontent and fear that his enemy was exciting him. The sounds that came from the suckling of his foot stated it clear._

_ "Your feet are like honey, but the color of warm milk." Stayne gloated with a grin. He gave one last suck of the toe, wringing out another 'nngh!' from his victim before pulling away with a wet pop of the lips from suction._

Touch. Hurt. Satisfaction. Wriggling feet excitedly as the pressure at their beginnings burned.

Tarrant was lost, so lost he could not distinguish that his hands making him rut and fuck the hard floor were not his own. They were, but, the lust and confusion that condensed into his brain gave him no sense of feeling from his thimble-tacked fingers.

"A…ahh…Alice…s……st…"

_The exhausted man closed his eyes, catching his breath though his member still throbbed horribly. He didn't know whether to note that he should be relieved that he wasn't receiving pleasure from a beautifully dangerous enemy, or aching pain that it stopped. He would have kept moaning even if his feet were so raw and bleeding and shredded, eaten off his legs…Tarrant knew he would enjoy pleasure till the end of the foot's life._

_ "Oh footsie…tootsie rootsie…fffffiggy baskets…"Mumbling breathless nonsense as his foot laid gently drenched in saliva._

"Fffffiggin's baskets…darling toe, how s-sweet you a-are…" Mumbling the absent rhyming as he pushed his shoes off, wriggling like a playful kitten laying on his back.

_The dark man was extremely satisfied, in fact extremely surprised and aroused that the freak enjoyed foot worship so much. It would have worked fine if the hatter was merely disgusted, by then the Knave would chew the foot painfully. However the freak had given him an even better response, an encouraging one._

_ It had been awhile since he last dined upon sex._

_He bent forward, his long arms reaching the other leg. It was shaking agitated in his grasp as he pulled them both into his lap. He could see why, the hatter was mangling his feminine lips by chewing, forcing himself to not cry out at the pang of arousal. It hurt, so bad for the hatter, for his pants to be restricting him._

_Tarrant watched in those lidded red eyes the Knave tearing off the other shoe. Toes twitching as the shoe and then sock was slipped off, slowly and teasingly. Tarrant gave a smile, sure in the limp mind to except more pleasure. He purred like a cat, chirring and sighing as the Knave's left hand massaged the foot._

Purr he did, but only for a moment. He pulled his legs up, soon making work to make his toes bare. But the pressure, oh the pressure…it ached…the hands reared back, turning on him.

"….no! A-Alice would…not approve…Aye…ayne…." Half-words as he tried not to call the tall dark and handsome man's name. Too late, his hands had gone to massaging the foot and slinking into his pants. The hatter mewed, as if in pain more than sighing at the touch.

_The massaging stopped after just one soft lick of the toe. Tarrant sighed again his purrs louder. He rolled his eyes back in such pleasure. As the first-abused foot was grasped he realized he never knew he could purr. Perhaps he and Chess had more in common…_

"_Nn…mmm…oh yes, t-that's so warm…"He purred aloud as the balls of his feet were pressed against a warm fleshy object. Stayne grabbed his foot, loudly groaning as he moved the hatter's feet up and down slowly._

"S-Stayne…" Soft, whispered moans. Eyes watering as he stroked himself. His foot, like a blind hunter stalked around and found the table leg.

_Tarrant lulled his eyes open again and looked down._

_Stayne was violating his foot with his stiff erection. He must have pulled it out after he had dismantled the other shoe. Now the Knave was leaned back in the creaky wooden chair, a firm grasp on the lubed-from-spit foot that was being made to press and stroke the giant, long swollen rod. Stayne took his leisurely time, licking his limp lips as he watched, triumphant, the prisoner's face._

_A few seconds passed as Tarrant's mind cleared into whiteness. He squealed and then cried out with horror. Nostrils flared as he sucked in air and wailed again, shaking and trying pull his legs away. There was a hand on each foot, keeping each one in its place, one kept on a leg and the other moving up and down a very warm object indeed._

The foot pressed and moved up and down, leveraged on the table leg. The phallic object satisfied the foot, sending sensation up the straining leg to the groin.

Whimpering, sloppily pitiful. Tarrant was now sputtering. He stopped the caresses to unbutton the pants, freeing himself as the madness fully took over. His hand wrapped around and started to erratically move like a ravenous hare, being electrocuted around his girth.

_"I am…ah….after all supposed to be torturing you." Stayne drawled. _

_ "Stop r-raping my f-foot!" Hatter yelped as he squirmed. His toes curled trying to bend, to claw the swollen _thing _his foot was stroking._

_ The Knave was fascinated by the wriggling toes, like a fish amused by live bait. He throbbed, a wave of pleasure every pulse, in time with the foot he was forcing to provide him friction. The toes that tried to snap at his burning head he squeezed, letting them wriggle along the sides of his phallus. His pleasure was expressed with a hitch in his breathing, turning his smile into an 'o' face as he breathed._

Up and down, erratic. Rolling around back and forth from side to side wetting the floor with tears, cold sweat and drool. Stuttering guttural cries from closed rainbow eyes.

_Tarrant whined as the fear and disgust boiled in his gut. His pleasure was mixed with the helplessness he felt as he hung, immobilized, and both his feet pleasured and giving pleasure. _

_ With all that the pleasure was even more exotic. His gasping was shallow, hitching and coughing at the onset of crying whenever he dared to see him. Stayne had his eyes closed with confidence the hatter would not escape. Strong hands placed both soles of the feet around the massive organ, making his prisoner gape and make those adorable squeaking sounds of terror and weakness. Harder, harder he went, grunting as he began bucking into the passage created by the shivering feet. Tarrant could only dwell on the violation he was watching and feeling._

Mewling as his pumping intensified. Toes curled around the table leg. Tarrant eyed the chair he was formerly sitting in. It was soft, plush red. With no further ado he hissed and pounced on it.

_Tarrant mewed at the sound of his enemy gloating his pleasure. The vile man moaned as he rammed between the feet. His head went back with his tunic heaving up and down as the villain neared his peak. He hissed, smiling that sadistic face. The eye opened clouded with lust. A wolfish grin appeared with a dark, growling laughter. Tarrant gasped another cry of disgust before paling. _

The chair was pushed down, the legs up. Hatter mounted it, grinding his manhood on the velvet as he humped it vigorously. His imagination had become real. His right gripped the bottom of the chair as he rode the seat. The other was twitching as it attacked his thigh, dragging his leg, an unwilling entity now, up to claw and scratch his own foot. The straining of the position was interpreted as the stretched leg from the hours ago, when he was suspended half naked to the onslaught…

Musky hair, that scent. His nose now lied to him too.

"Stayne oh STAYNE oh StayneohStayneohStayne….Sttttaaayynnneeee…not my foot…p-please…my p-pretty foot…BITTERNAGHT! NAUGHT GUTTER! B-bbanderSNATCCHHH…Mundun's merkikou…kou…oh…"

_"Alice…A-Alice…p-please…h-help…heeeeelp…"_

_ The laughing was indistinguishable from groans. The Knave dominated him without even being above him._

_ "…Stayne…s-stop…stop this…st…op…sta…yne…"_

_ He answered by glowering up at the begging man. Both eyes locked, in different states of pleasure. The hatter was now convinced the Knave was more insane than he was to fuck feet._

_ "It will stop if you tell me her whereabouts." Stayne grunted this more than properly spoke it. He took one abused foot to his mouth, suckling the toe greedily as he used the space between the two main toes on the other to glide his member through. Tarrant hiccupped a sob as more tears came. He squirmed his head about his arms to wipe his eyes as the toe space forcibly footjobbed. Weakness coursed through his veins as he interpreted this as true torture and harm. His feet were his property, not a surrogate vagina to please a lecherous man._

Panting and whimpering. His back-marks from the whip burning again as he imagined gloved strong hands caressing his curved spine. He arched and pummeled the chair, making the whole structure jerk every little bit more across the floor. Tarrant had let go of his foot and now reached behind to slink hi hands into his pants again, this time to seek his own hole.

_"I know you won't tell me. I know you're going to keep suffering." He breathed out in his evil voice. "You stupid little man with your loyalty…ah…"Stayne lifted his long legs, easily reaching up and along Tarrant's leg. His boot pressed against the shriveling bulge of the hatter, quickly bringing it to life._

He arched up, whimpering freely as he licked his finger and slipped it inside himself. Tarrant quaked as he felt so hot that the chair should have already combusted into flames.

_"…you are mine. Your body will be mine. You will break and fall into a level of madness you never would have imagined…" He nudged the painted-man's bundle further, eliciting Tarrant's cries._

"S-Stayne…p-please have mercy…I…I…" Tarrant moaned as he pleasured his body.

_"I will…take you…" He groaned. "I will beat you…fuck you…you little rabbit…trap you…"_

"Do…don't…d-don't hurt me…"

Gasping. Humping like a rabbit that he was compared to. Miserable, ensnared, trapped in the castle. Trapped in his horrific memory and fear. With only a chair and his hands to amuse himself with.

_"I'm going to hurt you…over and over again…oh…yes…I will enjoy it…I am…enjoying it…"_

Tarrant broke into tears as he thrust into the chair.

"I'll…Stayne…STAYNE STOP IT! P-PLEASSSEEEE! OH FUTTERWACKIN!"

_Stayne bucked as he came. Tarrant stared, watching and cringing in horror as the Knave wantonly emptied himself all over his feet. His fine, red-scratched, bruised, abused feet…covered with whiteness. Tarrant thought he would vomit as Stayne moaned his pleasure and pumped himself dry all over the wriggling feet._

_ "Yes…yes…yesss…" His hand held the squirming, sobbing hatter's feet in place as he disgusted the foot's owner. He panted heavily, satisfied with himself and the terror shocking the freak._

Sobbing. Shaking. Convulsing.

_The Knave stood up. His manhood half-erected, bobbing about as he approached the sniffling, hurt man. Tarrant kept his eyes clenched as he felt the oily hair again at his neck. Stayne's hands went up his sides, feeling the hatter's chest heave and shake. His suspended freak kept sobbing as he lapped up the tears. Sweet as honey. Salty as sex._

_ He trembled as the tongue licked his face. His feet dripped with cum, trembling and limp. His feet we slimy and warm as he began shaking the shameful seed off his foot, splattering it away as he weakly kicked and wriggled. _

_ "You will always remember this, hatter…" The dark man purred in his ear. Tarrant whined. Disgust burned in his core. The Knave's hands went to his ribcage and pulled him against his chest. _

_ "P-please don't…NNAAHH!!" Hatter cried out at the feeling of Stayne's throbbing organ poking his bare stomach, and the thick clothed leg that kneaded his groin again._

_ "How I've always wanted to violate you." Tarrant's ear was bitten sharply as the intention was clear. He was going to be raped. This man had always wanted to rape him, instead of kill him. Always. Wanted to. Rape him._

"Bastard…how I h-hate you…you…sick, t-twisted munter…"

_"Today is that day, my honeysuckle…"_

"H-h-honey s-s-suck…suckle…su…nnnnnn…"

_A kiss was given to him, though Tarrant did not exhale. Ilosovic knew he hadn't fully broken him yet, just horribly shaken him. Certainly Tarrant would never look at his feet the same way again. And soon, his entire body, that the Knave was groping…_

His foot kicked out, grinding into the floor as the Hatter slumped off the chair and replaced the velvet with his hand. He needed to finish. No, Stayne's hand, which magically looked like his own, needed to finish him off, 'against his will'.

_The kiss endured, bruising the whimpering soft lips. Sensual dark lips claimed him and the tongue darted in, the same thick tongue that violated his foot earlier. It violated his mouth now. It tasted like foot and some other thick taste besides the hot flesh exploring his smaller mouth. _

_ As he moaned his submission, a wet glove smearing itself into his bright hair, he found he liked the taste._

Drool. Pumping like a madman, he is the madman.

He moaned as he rocked back and forth on his side, legs open as he imagined a Knave there, heat against his opening and those dark, large hands, perfectly engulfing him. Those curls by his cheek with a thick licking tongue. A demanding oily voice 'caressing' his ear in his own evil way, to whisper horrible things.

_"My lord, the queen requests an audience with the prisoner!"_

_ The growl as Stayne pulled away felt to Tarrant like ice-tea hitting his face. Tarrant gasped for breath and still shook in the tight, all-encompassing grasp. Stayne moved away, and he knew the man was glaring at the messenger-guard. He couldn't help but watch as Stayne tucked himself back in smoothly and quickly, not letting on too much information he was just about to fully molest the prisoner._

_ "Thank you, you may get ready at the top of the stairs." The Knave gave his warning, fake smile at the card. The guard left._

_ Tarrant was catching his breath, feet now cold and still wet. He looked up at the malicious man. It made him sick._

_ "I shall get an answer from you, or not, later. Our business…is not settled yet."He remarked, showing his frustration at not being able to completely take the gorgeous man. _

_ Tarrant sighed in relief, his eyes fluttering closed as he relaxed. No, he wasn't going to be further tortured now. He was being let loose for the moment. _

_ He fell to the floor after the shackles were unlocked. He coughed, finally able to wipe his eyes with the back of his sweaty hand. He moaned on the cold floor, not moving. His arms, how they hurt, his back how it burned, his groin…_

_ Tarrant wasn't even given a towel to wipe his feet. In fact the Knave was cruel enough to drop the socks especially on his quivering fluid-covered feet. Tarrant knew the tall man was smiling, the hidden contours concealed by the shadows._

_ He was kicked to sit up. Swallowing and sniffling, he tried to stop himself from crying more as he humiliated himself by putting on his sock, now ruined with a 'squish'. The Knave was right, it did disgust him. It disgusted him how he enjoyed that mouth on his feet and then disgust from what had been left on it. _

_ The mad hatter was abused and humiliated. He felt like a whore even though the only violation was his feet. Feet that were covered in cum, making him feel sick as he stood up. He was shaking where he stood, the Knave shackling his wrists in front of him once the hatter finished dressing._

_ Suddenly he was spanked, pushed through the opened cell door. The man cried out, making a discontented noise at walking with slimy salty feet and the loud SPAWCK of his rear._

_ Hanging his head he was about to head out when the Knave's grip came around his hips, holding him still for a moment._

_ Tarrant whimpered in his broken state. Shaking, mentally and physically abused. Though in a usual mood he would dismiss the disgustment, it was not his usual mood right now. It had happened to him._

_ The Knave's clothed aroused pressed warningly into the hatter's lower back. Tarrant sniffed again as tears threatened to come forth. It would hurt him, so bad, if he was to be sentenced to death and torture alone with the Knave again. The promise of sex was not welcome, he knew this now. Pleasure from his always came with a price._

_ He didn't know it would be more madness._

"Touch me S-Stayne…y-yes that's right, ffuck, FUCK me. Toe-licking dog that you a-are…you a-already t-teased me…so far…ahh…ahhhh AHHHH…" Tarrant said in a wild, high voice. Like a mouse in passion. His own erection was so aching and hot in his hand.

_The lecherous eel once more leaned against the sweet man's cheek. The sweet man almost buckled right then and there at the presence of that glorious…no, he didn't want that! Stayne was not so arousingly attractive to him, no he couldn't be, even though he looked so powerful and handsome when his feet were escaping into oblivion…_

_ The bulge was still evident. The kiss was long on his cheek, planted there for seconds to get a taste of the hatter's blushing warming skin._

_ "You are a delicious flower. I will enjoy you later." The slick voice of terror cooed._

_ "You...you…" Tarrant breathed out. He was barely able to conjugate words in the presence of a lusty Knave._

_ "I what, honeysuckle?" Words slick with dominance._

_ His victim shivered as he mustered up the strength. His words came in a soft weak voice, struggling ot be spoken despite his throat clenching shut._

He did not want to feel the ultimate pleasure from being humiliated.

He did not. He did not. He did not.

Yet he did.

_ "Y-you're mad."_


	2. 2 Fear

**A/N: Well, here she is, the second chapter. Not so much arty as the first but definitely...definitely..pornographic.**

**_Warnings: _Foot fetish, blow job, non-consensual.  
**

**Which means its rated M. For a reason.**

**Turn back before its too late. Before the final chapter.  
**

* * *

Tarrant rolled back, bucking and convulsing on his side as he gave a hoarse scream. His hand continued to jerk him as he released himself. Intelligible words that all meant one thing: _Stayne, oh Stayne, Staaaynnee…_

Sobbing came with his screamed of pleasure. He thrusted painfully as if someone was there throttling his body and holding his organ, not his gloved fingers and his steady foot on the table leg. Pushing him, tugging the essence out of him while he cried out.

His eyes opened to the doorway. Blurry, tear filled eyes beheld a tall dark shape of a man that was leaning against the wall next to the door that was only slightly open before the madness began.

Tarrant remained ignorant of the image for a little bit as he had a final throb of pleasure, diverting coherent thought for precious seconds more.

Hatter lost his voice in the tidal wave. His body sagged as he glorified in the sensation of orgasm. His hands shook on the ground, eyes falling upon the spray of pearly liquid on the floor. Tarrant coughed as he sputtered more whimpering nonsense. The shaking mute words _no, no, no I didn't, I couldn't, no no nononono _was because he hadn't the strength to say them. Only his lips moved as he sank into the depths of insanity. His mind was reconstructing itself slowly to his usual crazy self, but for now he was weak, wincing as he sobbed. A very ashamed doll broken on the floor.

That's when it hit him. Like a brick. A black, velvet, sharp brick.

His eyes widened as he began to shiver and breathe fast again. Swallowing as he frowned and mentally prepared himself as he stared at the two black heeled boots that were mere feet away from him at the red wall. He didn't want to face the truth. No he didn't.

Blinking his tears away, sniffling, he wandered his eyes upwards. From the boots he traveled up the long muscled legs, the hips, the black tunic covering the expansive chest, he long arms crossed in front of him and up, up the graceful neck to the fine, lustful face of the Knave of Hearts.

It was no look of sadistic grinning, nor of angry glowering. The Knave looked utterly pleased but serious. Seriously thinking about what he would do next. The expression was mostly unreadable to the exposed hatter, but it certainly contained arousal.

"No…" He croaked from the floor. He shut his eyes as more tears came. Heaving again at the humiliation. "How…h-how much did…did you…you…"

The Knave licks his lips as he began. "I couldn't help but notice that you were making your hats quite loudly…so I slipped in, watching you writhe on the floor like the little slut you are. Calling my name. Disgracing the queen's property by raping the chair." His tone had a particular hiss to it, his head lowered as he glared and began to give that hideous smile again. "Of particular interest was how I had caused you so much suffering that you included grinding your feet into the floor. Your darling feet are now so, so dirty…"

He clicked his tongue, mocking a disapproving tone. He didn't need to for the hatter already disapproved of his masturbating actions. Tarrant's heart felt like it was drowning in the knowledge the man had stood there watching him roll about the floor in self-pleasure, fantasizing…

Tarrant was recovering some part of his usual senses at least, despite the man leering over his form.

"M-maybe you put something in my tea?"

"I'm afraid you're quite wrong. You were already mad and don't need drugs to make you cum, whore."

The hatter felt another jab of pain at the sound. Truly, loosing himself to a wanton pleasure he didn't think he would experience was very sexual and wild of him.

The more he lay the more he felt powerless. Tarrant sat up and began blushing at the breeze still down there. He returned his currently-spent organ back into his pants, and, brushing himself off staggered to his feet. Strangely he felt very shaky and leaned against the table. With a frown he also surmised that he was naturally quaking and belittling himself in the presence of the oppressor.

A villainous smile betrayed the Knave's thoughts. The man knew he succeeded in mostly breaking him. He pulled out the foot fetish from the depths of the depraved mind, he was the man the hatter was pretending was raping him…It pleased him, very much so. He would make both their dreams come true, or at least, one dream and a nightmare.

"Considering everyone's tucked into bed, hatter, I think its time we…continue. You have been eager for it all the day, no?" He teased. "After all I saw, I certainly know this."

Tarrant gave a bolt and leaped over the table, dragging his leg chain with him as he scattered to the other side. He didn't go very far, his panicking mind driving him to the sudden speed of his rash attempt to escape caused him to trip and fall, the chain limiting him. Hatter didn't know why in the moment he leaped away in fear, as logically he would have stood his ground giggling pretending to be an idiot or threatening in his dark tone. Nope. Logic had all been thrown out the window, because of _him. _

All he was thinking about was getting away from the vicious snake that slithered into his birdcage, ready to devour.

While his kicking rabbit ran and pulled against the chain the red Knave set about locking the door. Once that done, as Tarrant whined like a dog chewing the chain, Stayne cleared hats and pins, scissors and other weapons from the table to scatter to the floor, noting one hat was quite wet. Tarrant had now stood up and began stamping on the chain as Stayne began to remove his armor, his erection swelling more as he stripped the constricting gear.

During the time his enemy was removing articles of clothing, Tarrant was formulating responses, any way to make an excuse why the Knave should not rape him. He came up with some as his confidence built inversely with the rising level of terror and, strange to him since he didn't accept it yet, arousal.

Tarrant stood up after finding breaking a thick metal chain wasn't ever going to happen. He raised his eyes and wished he hadn't again. _Mental note, do not look at the Knave of Hearts…do not…no…_

A view of a glorious chest was shown to him. Pale white, like some fine un-marbled marble had been given the form of a broad-chested man. Muscles contoured beautiful hard lines of the pectorals, the firm bulging abs, his arms long and toned perfectly. His retorts died in his throat for a moment. The man, the godly owner of the chest was busy looking at his hands, and even more distressing to the picture he was putting his gloves back _on._

Heat flared up in his thighs at the sight of the material slipping onto the Knave's gloriously talented fingers. The hatter tried to stifle it and the imaginations by shifting his legs closer together, trying to restrain and pinch his insignificant penis down into the depths of flaccidity.

The dominant man growled suggestively seeing his prey stand so tall yet look so meek. He leaned off the edge of the table and easily strode about, circling his prey. His prey fidgeted at the feeling of those eyes boring into him again. He was sure the gaze was burning a hole into his jacket. He cleared his throat as the taller man finished his lap around him.

"You a-are making a mistake Mr. Knave." Tarrant began, swallowing to change his pitch from the frightened squeak he just gave. "Y-you see, the queen doesn't want me harmed. I'm making her h-h…hats."

"I have the full authority to find Alice. And…" He emphasized his point by wiggling the chain under his heel. "…you are an un-trusted prisoner, hence your little leash, Mr. Hightopp. It would be wise if you humbled yourself instead of resisting my authority."

The Knave was no longer amused by the resistance of his meal standing to face him. His foot firmly pressed the chain and dragged it violently. The result was delicious, the rabbit crying out as he slipped down with a thud.

Tarrant didn't mind the pain, more the surprise. He went to sit up but there the man was towering over him. His black boot planted unto his chest, over his fluttering heartbeat. Tarrant could only look up, staring into his one burning eye.

"My, darling, you look so terrified…" He leered. Oh, how he loved that pretty little face, staring up at him with those doeful eyes…yes, he would make sure they would continue to do that.

Tarrant could only nod, but terror gave way to blushing at the commandment of the Knave.

"Take off my boots."

That husky voice still dripped with viscous oil, slippery with sexual meaning. Tarrant loudly gulped, hardly believe what he just heard. Him, take off the boots to expose his…his…

The heel went and dug into his sternum making the hatter gasp. His hands reached up the ankle, feeling the foot writhe and move as it compressed his chest. His intake of air was already picking up, why did the Knave have to further restrict his breathing? How cruel of him, _how savage. _

Pleased as his beauty slinked those hands up his leg he stopped crushing him as hard. It was in place as he enjoyed the squirrely-man undo the buckles. Oh, how he enjoyed the feathery fingers releasing the straps, moving inch by in inch up his muscles. Judging from the flush on his face the mute horrified hatter was trying not to enjoy feeling up his leg. Having him remove the shoes was in fact a favor, rarely given, to the foot-stricken hatter.

Tarrant's eyes welled with tears as his hands sent traitorous signals to his brain. The buckles were limp, his hands resting on the power of the long calves hidden under the black. The material tantalized his trembling fingers as they curled around his heel and the edge of them. In fact he was feeling a sense of anticipation for the sight he dreaded to see that was hidden in the shoe.

"I…" He began to say, the Knave graciously lifting his leg back to help him pull his long boots off.

"I what?" Replied the intimidating Knave.

"…I think you're madder than I a-am." Tarrant garbled out as he gripped the boot, wrenching it off finally off his foot.

"You're going to madder than a hatter and hare combined when I'm through with you." He chuckled darkly, wiggling his toes in the black socks. "The other now."

_Oh God, the other…_ He thought as he sat up and kneeled. It was far easier unbuckling his enemy's boot this way, instead of scrambling for the buckles on his back. As he tried not to think about the purposes of helping him strip his footwear off he saw the Knave stand on his untying foot, removing the sock.

"…oh…" Was what Tarrant uttered. He wished he wasn't blushing at the sight of the manly, long, arched toes. The whole foot was giant and splendored, perfection and masculine and…_no I mustn't! This…this foot thing is improper, he caused it! HE DID._

"Like what you see?" The man laughed as he used a common line. It worked very well to frighten the hatter. He kicked the man away as he lifted his leg up and removed his boot himself. Both were tossed to the side, and then the last sock.

The seated orange man noted how the pants had continued into the boots the same tightness. He sat back as he studied the toning and shape of the leg.

His interest was a bit wanton for he forgot the place where he was. The legs moved closer, the white feet planted on the ground in front of him. Then the pain hit.

"Ah!" He cried as the long hands gripped his hair. He was pulled up, kneeling tall and facing his thigh. Feeling heat emanate from the center of the hips, Tarrant's pleasure of admiring legs turned into fear again. The position he was in, looking up at the loincloth, did not mean good things.

Stayne noticed a problem immediately. He was too tall for the hatter's mouth to reach him. He glanced about the room, still keeping a good grip in the frizzy orange hair to spy any sort of 'lift' that would solve this dilemma. There it was, a larger plush arm chair in the corner of the room.

With one last smile at the poor man he shoved him away, heading towards it. Tarrant whined and clutched his hurt scalp, peeking around to see the topless man carry a chair over near the table. Watching as the long man settled himself comfortably in it, Tarrant soon got the picture of why he was lounging there. Stayne unbuckled the armored skirt and deposited it to the side, revealing how large the Knave's sword was in his pants.

"Oh gibbletints…" He cursed. How intoxicatingly seduced was he, that he would eye the spread-eagled feet and fright at the hidden manhood of his torturer? This mock-loving was worse than being forced into it by brute hands. The Knave was manipulating him, teasing him, knowing that the madman had just masturbated to the idea of his feet.

"Pleasure me hatter. Put your pretty little mouth to work." Dark and thick, well oiled voice. A gloved hand pointing to his wiggling toes.

"S-Stayne…" He stuttered and clutched his sweating hands. "I do not wish to…to debase myself so easily with your offering. Besides it might taste terribly ripe after being in your-"

"It is not a choice, it is an order." Snarled the red Knave. Tarrant reared back with a whimper at the threatening tone. The words snapped at him like a Tove. "If you do not crawl here slut, I will choke you till you beg for them…"

The rabbit that kneeled stood up and stepped forward. He hoped it would be a good enough signal, along with his open-quivering mouth that he was going there and didn't need to be choked. His neck ached at the thought of being strangled. Shivered at thinking he would have to beg for the taste of his 'glorious' foot. He didn't want that…did he?

Stayne got the hint and lessened the offensive. His point was clear, after all the pretty man wasn't completely a worthless dog. Patience and assurance that he was the one in charge would get things done. The hatter always worked that way. Patience and the threat of a firm foothold. It worked, for the wispy-haired pixie of his delights was timidly making his way over.

The feet were tempting. One point told him to move back and resist like the proud Hightopp he was, the other was pulling him towards the simple request of licking feet because of fear and curiosity. The tugging grip of terror that threatened him to do this now worked in his head to block the phrase, 'curiosity killed the cat'.

Green bright eyes locked on the right foot. Feet, washed of the sinful slime when he was left alone earlier in the room shuffled tiny steps. The chink of the chain accompanied his movements as he came closer to the white structural appendage of the right leg. His fingers fidgeting with themselves in front of his opened shirt and jacket. Every movement added more pressure, more fear, more not-wanting thoughts.

He was glad the Knave had let him take his time. They had all night after all, to be violated and engaging in foul activities of the flesh.

Tarrant knelt again, knowing that the Knave was smiling. He glanced at him, bread-and-butterflies rising in his chest at the sight of his captor lounging so patiently, a slight lift of the sensual lips as he watched his slut endure the 'choice' of taking his feet.

Tarrant broke from his fearful flustered trance as Stayne place his foot in his lap. Tarrant looked down and analyzed the large foot. Gulping he grasped it, using every restraint to keep his nervousness in his stomach and not outside. It failed, his fingers shaking as he lightly prodded the digits of the foot.

This cause Stayne to purr and he settled more in his chair, letting out a sigh as Tarrant prepared to let loose.

_I'm going to have to do this. Even though his feet are…are thrilling…my tongue, it begs. I wish I had control when it comes to this new thing. _

Tears came again, as if his eyes weren't red enough from crying today. His hand massaged the foot, finding it was cold, _cold as his damn heart _and warmed to his touch. The fascination of the foot and his position on the floor began to send the signal he had imagined just earlier. Throbbing blood went down his body. His mouth turned from fright-dry to becoming filled with saliva.

"M-mercy, my lord." Tarrant begged in his choking voice as he gently caressed the foot. "Mercy for a p-poor madman who's...who's had enough for today."

"I refuse it! You don't know what you're missing if you stop devoting attention to me this way." Stayne weaseled. He leaned forward and Tarrant instinctively shrank with a soft sound of cringing. "Or, do you?"

The eye wandered to where the hatter began to further work his foot. The massaging excited his lust and craving of the pleasures of feet. He always had this fetish, this wanton lust for feet. Now was his chance to humiliate and fuck this man he had dreamed of dominating. Lucky it was that he also had a foot fetish. His thoughts were right once more, the hatter moved his head down to his handiwork to avoid his piercing eye, and did as he was told. He pleasured the foot. Stayne, satisfied and feeling more pleasure lounged back where he was, nuzzling the headrest as he let his chained slave satisfy the foot-related urges.

Tarrant's hand explored his foot, fascinated by the natural curves and the structure. He knew he was forced to do this, the tears and screaming in his head reminded him, but he had very little options of what to do left. The more he caressed the fine and the calloused parts of the skin the more his blood pumped. The hatter whimpered as another burning wave of pleasure went down his spine. Each pound of his heart sent him more and more into focus of the object of his lusts. Hating himself, loving every second as he squeezed and massaged the foot. His quick whistling breathing was indistinguishable from breathing of prickling suffering or lust.

Whimpering again at the bondage without restraints. This was what had drove him to rape the chair. That he wanted to be hurt this way, that he wanted his gasping breath to be indistinguishable from fear and lust. That at least someone's pair of feet was being tortured with the oddity of sensation.

Tarrant looked up, and though he was shaking so horribly that his entire vision was quivering he saw the Knave scowl at him. Without saying a word he figured it meant 'put your mouth on it.'

Tarrant obliged the invisible request and lifted the food up, bent and taking a taste of the toe. His master purred contently as the hatter began slowly licking the feet, noting the taste of sweat and flesh.

It was glorious to Tarrant. It electrified his mouth as he lingered his fleshy tongue at the bottom of the foot. Tarrant never experienced such a taste, such a sensation. He closed his eyes with a soft guttural moan, and clamped his mouth over it. Another moan, another muffled gasp, and his face became lax with pleasure.

The Knave was not only aroused by the man's breath and mouth encasing his foot but how much pleasure the darling was being given. Stayne grinned at the hatter's humiliating reaction of joy and _was that purring? _

Indeed Tarrant was purring, in all the true sense of the word. A giant, orange and blue cat, batting his eyes mewling as he licked the foot in his shaking hands. The tongue made a soft sound as he licked up-patterns on the sole like a cat, grooming and tasting the foot.

"Oh s-sweet t-toe…" He once again repeated from earlier. The toe was indeed sweet like candied cherries, or perhaps just his imagination. After all this was his first foot and he did know that a foot should just taste like a foot. Surely they were both mad to think of cherries and the his own as honey. Regardless he bathed in the sensations and purred louder, suckling the toe in a hungry, almost feeding way.

The owner of the foot was enjoying this thoroughly. When he had explained countless times in the past to ladies and men that he bedded, they all refused or begrudgingly indulged in worshipping his feet. But here, here was one who was willing…and oh, how he suckled!

Tarrant absorbed his task. Mindless, sucking, tugging with dull teeth. Making the toes wriggle when the Knave groaned with pleasure, pleased at the sensation of the clamping wet mouth all over him. Soft kisses and constant feline-esque licking. Massaging the ankle up and down the calve. Latching with a low, soft growl and sucking the toe for all its worth…The Knave gasped so hard when Tarrant pulled his foot into his small mouth so fast and hard Stayne almost lost all his senses.

Tarrant was losing his control. He almost made the decision to keel over onto his back, sucking it like a feeding piglet at the sow! At this realization, as he talked to himself in gibberish in his head, a pang of guilt hurt his brain. If his lips weren't so constricted around the toes he was moving up and down on, it would have become a frown.

"The other…massage that too…" Stayne moaned out from his limp position, save for his hand clenching the arm rest and the other…

Tarrant paused his sucking to swirl his tongue around and grab the waiting foot. As he pulled it close to his warm thigh, massaging it, his eyes locked to where the other hand had went. Stayne threw his head back as he pulled his pants open. His 'friend' had risen to the occasion into his hand, being stroked with abandon; small low cries of 'yes…' being whispered from the Knave.

Tarrant was feeling frightened again.

His lips went limp and the foot slipped out of his mouth. The staring at the massive red organ was synomous with humiliation, both of his own organ and the enemy's. Except this was more frighteningly big and different. The memory of his foot all over it being forced on there, to rub and grope, the Knave laughing with lust…

Stayne noticed his wet foot was cold. His eye opened and beheld the quivering hatter who knelt. The hands had gone from touching his feet into clawing himself slowly. Tarrant was no longer in the mood to give the man any more pleasure. Any more sucking of the foot, and the Knave would moan and touch himself even more. This was not relevant to his interests, despite the sweet taste of foot to eat. As such as he thought all this over in his head while his hands absent-mindedly scratched, slowly, pawing his own jacket, it was because his skin was tingling and the sight of the erection, that damned thing, was a threatening weapon to him.

He knew the hatter wouldn't suckle his feet anymore. It was time to make sure he knew the word fear again. The joy of pleasure of the taste of his succulent feet was enough.

"This isn't going to suck itself."

The man below him has his eyes extra-wise this time. Nostrils flared as he hiccupped. Tears returned. His rabbit had the urge again to jump and run away even if he would trip again and again. There was no way he would suck it, no, not possible…

Stayne grabbed the lax chain and began pulling. Tarrant knew he would soon be tugging him along to settle between his legs, logic still was out the window and had run far away. Tarrant, gasping and wiping the drool from his mouth turned around and began to crawl away as fast as he could. However despite how cattish (and skittish) as he was he was not as graceful when it came to paralyzing fear. He didn't care if he gave his seated enemy a view of his rump, just so long as he would fight, fight and fight…

Laughter came behind him, damaging his spirit. The chain dragged his foot and he was being hauled in.

"N-no sir, sir, please sir I'm r-rather not, not wanting to!" His voice rose steadily in pitch. The laugh continued. He tried everything: scrabbling his fingers on the floor for a grab hold, wriggling his legs and kicking wildly, turning on his back and trying to get leverage. No use, Stayne dragged him in.

He cried out with a sob of pain from the grip once more in his hair. His body squirmed and struggled on the floor as the hands went to his collar to drag him to his knees. Tarrant reached out and blindly grasped the Knave, feeling for the first time his muscled body, hips and legs…as he squirmed to push away.

This time, he was at the right level.

Stayne growled enjoying his fighting. The hands went all over him, arousing him further. Tarrant was squeaking like a mouse in the grip of a cat. And with a tip of the head, his hatter would be gazing upon the mast that would be soon impaled in his mouth. Even he, the strong Knave shuddered so weakly with pleasure. Pale face, a reddish tint to the gaunt wrinkles at his cheeks, thick lashes and fluffy wispy eyebrows, and those lips…oh indeed.

The knave tore his tie off and then began pushing the jacket off his shoulders. Tarrant gasped and tried to back away but Ilosovic had other ideas. His legs locked in, a cage tight around him. He still refused to lower his arms, which were buys pushing on his chest and his head thrown back wincing away from the jutting prow.

He was slapped for this. A choked sob after his intake of air in the shock and pain of a hard hand to his cheek. His shoulders laxed after tensing from the hit. A Knave shoving the sleeves down and reaching around the weeping hatter. The jacket was thrown off. Next was his shirt, half open and torn off with his trinkets. Tarrant tried to fight again, covering himself with his hands, leaning against the cage of the crossed legs around him but he was slapped again.

"….ahh…" he whined. He shivered from cold and fear and a warm phallus in front of him. Eyes shut as the legs tighten and snaked down. Feet at and in his inner thighs and hands, gloved hands at his shoulders and back. Pressing him into the Knave in his low-laid chair. Tarrant felt the head just under his chin, its heat searing his skin mentally. Tarrant rather would have had the warmth of a cheek and raven-black hair, not a manhood. He cried at this. He was trapped and the constantly roaming hands assured him, with their massaging, hard gropes of pale milky skin made sure that Tarrant would not escape. And so, to steady himself to open his eyes to face his newest fate he reached up his lap, his silky tight pants and pawed Stayne's belly, sniffling and mewling his defeat.

"Shh hatter, shh…" His voiced mocked and played with the emotions his trapped little slut was feeling. Tarrant's mouth issued forth all sorts of sweet whimpering noises which all translated into begging Stayne to hurt him. Hands raked up his mid spine to his head, slowly making their way to his neck. Tarrant's hands pawed his abs, feeling their hardness, and the back of his head grappled. His face was being pushed against the cock rather rudely from the Knave. He moaned at the contact with the pretty doll-face. It was a hint Tarrant's trembling, shut lips would not take. His mewling was now whimpers from his throat.

"Take it. Come now little man, take it into your mouth." Demanded the Knave.

Tarrant winced and bit his pretty lips.

"Suckle it like a foot. I'm sure they taste the same."

Still he refused. A tear rolled down his pouty little face. He reeled with the beginnings of nausea when the Knave pressed it against his tight lips.

"You leave me no choice Hatter." He snarled and grabbed the hatter's head. His victim muffled a squeal when his nose was pinched hard. Tarrant couldn't breathe, without opening his mouth! To resist he clawed the hand, but his stubby fingernails he had chewed out of habit did nothing to the fingers pinching his nose closed.

"No teeth." He hissed over the jolting and struggling. "Open up…open…" Harder he pinched, and the harder Tarrant resisted. The pale face was turning blue. Would the madman know his limits?

Tarrant's eyes watered as he started at it. Quite soon he knew it would be shoved down his throat. His vision was clouding as he prepared himself. Perhaps he would pass out, which would save him from this…yes, good idea, indeed…

_Oh fiddlesticks. _His instinct took hold and he opened his mouth. He sucked in air, coughing for a moment when a hand held his jaw and pulled him forward, so that he sucked something else in.

His green eyes bulged out as he struggled again, inhaling from his nose and his mouth trying to open it. A hot prodding piece of flesh and a firm hand was keeping his mouth closed around it. It would have been easier if it was a foot. Alas, it was something far more sinister to the Hightopp.

He looked up at the red Knave and began gagging. He was roughly shoved on it, engulfed with the thickness that jabbed his throat and cheeks. The sensations were so powerful with the shock his nausea doubled as he gagged. It took all his throat power and strength so he wouldn't throw up. His mind began to fade, his mouth stuffed with flesh and going down his throat inch by inch.

He still stared at the glazed eyes of the horrible man. Both their chests heaved with breath, one moaning pleasure and the other from hyper ventilating. The cock was throbbing in Tarrant's mouth, lips tight almost to the base. Burning in his wet cavern as his hatter continued to make gurgling, gagging sounds.

Tarrant closed his eyes as he shook violently. He was pressed down and had taken as much of it as he could in the moment. No mercy or quarter was given, no, he muffled a sob as he expected the Knave to be, possibly, pitiable and let him pull away for a moment. It didn't happen. He tried to rear his head back but Stayne's hands were at the back of his head pushing him down.

It was quite a many seconds he was there. Gagged with Stayne's meat he just took it, choking and struggling as he learned rather quickly to control his gagging. He hurked, he sklubbed and gulped, eyes looking about the room wildly as he experienced this shameful and distracting thing. He clenched his fists and pounded on Stayne's body, grappling and holding onto his hips and thighs as he tried to stabilize. Soon, more seconds passing, and the feeling of hopelessness was fully manifest.

"……….mphf. Nnnnnn…nn…" He whined and shook sobbing. His eyes gave a last terrified look at the pleased Knave before he shut his eyes. _This…this is it…I can't…_was his entire speech in his head. In fact he was feeling a similar numbness as he felt with his mouth upon the feet, the feel of something pacifying and occupying his mouth…salivating him, numbing him, sending him spiraling into lust…

"Good boy. Good. Very, very…yes…suck…suck it…" Stayne breathlessly exclaimed. Tarrant's expression had turned into defeat and a strange rapture as he accepted his fate. Stayne was now completely sure Tarrant was under his control. He had all the signs: the pitiful whimpering, the breath slowing down, his shoulders sagged, his mouth being accustomating to the great length buried in his mouth. Tarrant was stuck on his member. He smiled further when he saw the blush across the hatter's cheeks, replacing the pale. Those tears made his eyes deliciously red and looking miserable for him. Miserable because of him, because he was the cause, and he alone will continue to cause it as his own will and wishes.

Tarrant pulled back and moved about. The hot member he felt harden in his mouth when he timidly moved his tongue around it. He squeaked, and continued to explore the feel of the flesh. It was warmer than a foot, it stifled his every sound, and simply begged for him to…to…

Defeat had won. Logic had flow away, but the quivering bird still remained. Tarrant gave a whimper as he gave in to his urges and began sucking.

Stayne hissed. His fingers curled into his hair as his slave preformed upon him. The hatter sniffled and moved up and down his length, sucking and licking. After all, he was told to do this, and somehow it made him feel…different.

_He's raping me. He's making me do this. Blasted Knave, blasted, vile eel, forcing me. Force. _Still he kept on sucking. And still his lust was there, waiting just above dormancy as he suckled the flesh.

Stayne bucked slightly simply from the sight of his head moving up and down. The rhythm tugged at his sanity and control. The sounds of wetness and 'mmphf' and 'nnff' and 'oomph' serenaded his ears. The hatter's reluctant-sounds let the man know that it was driving him mad. His hatter was submissive to his will.

"Oh Tarrant…" he panted, shifting his hips under the worshipping of the slave's mouth. Tarrant had buried his dignity and gave what Stayne wanted: he suckled him. Mindless sucking…because there was something horrifying to him that was dominating him. This was what he masturbated to, this helplessness. Being forced, violated, abused, hit and kissed. He started to feel better about what he was doing when he imagined it was a foot.

His hands reached and gripped the base of the organ. He pulled away, smacking his lips as he looked sadly and hurt at the cock's owner. Stayne was lounging with legs widespread. A blush was on his cheeks. The dick in Tarrant's hands was throbbing, achingly for the Knave. All the while the dark man stared at him. His eye, how it burned with power and lust. His long arms had reached and caressed his head. Oh how it felt good to Tarrant…his eyes closed as he breathed and mewed weakly, beginning to caress the manhood with his cat-like tongue again. Eyes lulled closed as his master petted him. Thick hands were petting and massaging his scalp, seemingly rewarding him for disgracing himself. Another whimper and he engulfed the member. A hand held it in place wrapped around the base and he continued sucking, harder and harder…pulling away to only breathe and give another cry and wince. He kept giving a face of disgust and horror despite his secret enjoyment. It was indeed secret within himself, because now his brain went into so much denial of the submission that it did it again as it happened before less than an hour ago.

His body wasn't his own. Tarrant severed himself from reality into imagination to deal with the problem of giving a cruel man a blow job.

With a wail of defeat he moved faster and faster. Rhythmic sucking was like the pounding of their hearts, throbbing and constant…rocking them to oblivion, closer and closer driving them to their limits. For the hatter is was driving him to a state of mad bliss in the fact he was forced to do this, the penis seeming to hit the back of his throat so hard it was pushing his mental awareness down into the depths of his brain. For the great Ilosovic Stayne it was the pleasure and pressure as he thrust up and down, into his insane-man's mouth going to the brink of orgasm. He huffed, grunting as he fucked the tight little mouth of his submitting orange man. The suckling was automatic and instinctual to the hatter as he clung to the bouncing hips, muffled moaning as he let his tongue and throat be abused by Stayne making love to his head. In all this the Knave moaned in his 'ah, ah, ahh…ah…ah, ah' sort of way.

"HAT…HATTER!" Stayne wheezed out, and then came with a guttural gasp. Much of his fantasies had just been fulfilled right then and there as he gripped the head that caused the orgasm. He bucked wildly, shooting into Tarrant's awaiting mouth, and panted breathlessly.

The victim however became nauseous and choked. His first blowjob sure did a good job of making sure that he wouldn't even fully enjoy them again.

"Mphg! GGGGHGHH! GMMPHF!" He cried as he was forced to take the jerking member. His mouth was filled, salty cum almost dribbling from his lips. His tongue burned at the tang, eye bulging again as he voiced his squealing discomfort.

"Swallow. You slut." Stayne growled in between his breathing. He kept Tarrant impaled on his 'sword' till then. During the time as Tarrant still held two things at once in his mouth and his gut revolting, Stayne had taken the time to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Tarrant closed his eyes, defeated again and swallowed. He almost vomited right then and there. He still was sick as he sat unbalanced, and finally fell over unto his sides to gasp freely. Reality came back somewhat to his senses while Stayne relaxed, spent…for the moment.

It was hard to satisfy the Knave. Only if you were bound, gagged, defeated, whimpering, hurt or humiliated and conquered could he feel the most wonderful of pleasures. The chained dog that was the hatter, twitching on the floor with a cum covered mouth had all those qualities. Stayne started at his half naked prey who shivered on the floor. His closed eyes as the man recovered, the arms hugging himself, the twitching as he came down to reality…beautiful, a beautiful broken doll.

Lust grew within him again.

After all, they had all night.


	3. 3 Fuck

**A/N: Well here it is. The Final chapter of this slashy fanfic. I tried my best, which is why it took so long to update!**

**_Warnings: _This chapter contains anal rapage, finger sucking, slight BJ and humiliation. As if poor Tarrant didn't need any more after the last chapters.  
**

_**Rating: **_**R, M, etc.**

**_Pairing: _Knave/Hatter.**

**_Other warnings: _I am not the most perfect writer. This whole fic abounds with run-on sentences and dramatic short ones. Along with a references to the original novels and _Mika, _of all things.**

**Enjoy as I mutilate your AiW. BEGIN FINAL CHAPTER.  
**

* * *

He wiped his mouth with the bunches of tea napkins after throwing up unto the tea tray. The cum he was forced to swallow ten minutes ago along with, oh a _heaping plate full of terror _did not agree with him.

The broken doll was still intact mostly. He most certainly knew he wouldn't for much longer. Alice was somewhere that could not help, but if she came to help he would see him half naked hacking up bit and pieces of tea, semen and his lunch in the farthest corner his leash would reach. The Knave, his 'master' as he told Tarrant was kind enough to acknowledge the croaking hatter's request for a place to vomit. With that sick grin of his, so _sick _he did. It wasn't much of a lunch anyways.

Stayne returned into the room, relocking the door. No one was around when he sneaked into his room to get some of his supplies. It wasn't much, just a few…things.

His hatter sat at the far corner of the room. He was heaving, recovering from throwing up. The knave set his blanket down on the table and headed over to the painted-whore with the pitcher he brought.

The painted-whore in question turned at the approach of his footsteps. His feet brought him instant bad and arousing memories, especially when Tarrant looked up the long legs to see his half-naked 'master' standing over him with some water. Why would the nasty-faced Knave care this much?

" Here. You need it before we start." The Knave bent and offered the pitcher to his terrified, beautiful darling. Tarrant eyed the water, and broken as he was (plus to spit the taste out of his mouth) he slowly grasped it and huddled the water close to his body. Stayne thought it actually quite cute, but he had other things to do while the hatter prepared himself as best he could.

Tarrant sniffled as the fear was becoming stronger. It was a disease that was spread through his body, infecting him dangerously. The water was tempting and useful as he almost threw up again at the taste in his mouth. He took some and gargled, spitting and doing it over and over again, before taking a much needed drink. After all, besides paranoia a madman has needs.

"M-my Alice w-would not approve." He sighed with defeat. The hatter looked up to find Stayne was indeed resourceful with the time. Stayne had cleared the table and was fixing up the buckles on what appeared to be a gag used in torture. There were a few pillows at an appropriate place on the table where a smaller man would presumably lay his head on. Finally there were dark metal shackles set aside for particular wrist shapes.

All this time the Knave was eyeing him, his hands at work fiddling with the gag, as if he was contemplating when and how to stuff it in the hatter's mouth…

Tarrant wished he didn't appear ready. He stood up, still chained by the leg and moved away from his mess. Stayne's expression was a devious smirk. Tarrant's was of a frightened boy. This toying, this pause between rape was only another aspect of the game Stayne played with his mouse. The un-satisfied cat, preying upon him, needed to satisfy his hunger that swelled in his pants.

His mouse, too, was quite hungry in a way more terrifying than the hatter wished to comprehend.

Stayne signaled his readiness by striding over to the mouse slowly with purposed steps. Night had long sense fallen and the candles burned brightly, casting the orange glow all over the pale body of his lovely 'dinner'. Indeed he was a marvelous sight to behold. The candles flickered an extra orange-glow in his dear's already orange hair. The frizzy curls stuck out all over seemed to be a halo of fire around the painted face. Tarrant's chest was already heaving because of his racing heart. The body was also delightful, a creamy color of flesh with a pinkish-tinge that made him seem in-human. The feast of the sight of flesh ended at the green pants which were tight around his hips and groin, ending a bit more than mid-shin in a strange way. The hatter's feet were still bare from when he had the 'event' earlier.

Our frightened hatter shook at the knees. As the swaggering Knave came closer and closer the hatter instinctually backed up until he could not anymore, not even reaching the wall. His eyes were gazing at the magnificence of his form, how lanky but strong, powerful his balance was. Broad chest of alabaster, his dark raven locks, his noble and arched nose, the black eye patch and the burning eye…and his face, his mouth neither grinning nor frowning yet. Regardless his lips were thick and sensual glistening with wetness. Tantalizing, appealing, and threatening.

Soon Stayne was right in front of him, glaring him down hungrily. Tarrant was belittled and even more frightened, but his mouth was salivating. Feet and lips went together in his head to form a mold of what he wanted. Another thing he also wanted, but feared. To be raped, to be forced and take it hard and hit.

That was exactly what Ilosovic Stayne was going to do.

"Oh…why…why…" He wailed as Stayne circled him. His rapist ignored his rhetohorical question as he looked over the beauty of the smaller man. Strong, limber, ungainly, and colorful. With those awful pants hiding his dignity and what he was safe to assume would be lovely legs and ass, he continued to subjugate his pet in a terrifying manner.

Tarrant stood his ground as Stayne once more was behind him. This time though he felt even less dignity: He felt he was just a piece of meat, a dress hung up to dry after being dipped in munter-sauce…all sorts of metaphors that he just came up with in his fear. Because that was what he was, a slut, Stayne's private whore.

"Ahh!" He cried when Stayne reached and grabbed his rear. The large hands massaged and roughly fondled his flanks. Tarrant began to jump away but was pulled back. Stayne snaked a hand around his hip, the warm arm against Tarrant's sensitive groin. He squeaked, held in place squirming where he stood as thick hands abused his rump.

"You have such _largeness…_" The venomousness voice purred, slick and malicious above and behind Tarrant. Stayne stood tall above him radiating heat from his chest to the cold, shivering back of the Hightopp. Tarrant was blushing and whimpering in fear as he experienced rude hands cupping, pinching and feeling the cloth-covered flesh. It felt so hard, rough and good to him…logic still didn't return home, so Tarrant now was accepting his fate as one who was enjoying his helplessness.

"I want to bury myself in you. I want to be _inside _your tightness…" Stayne blurted out and bent to nuzzle his hair. The man shivered beneath him as his hands ran up and down his thighs as he sharply inhaled the hair's scent. It was quite a delicious, an almost citrus, tea-scent, and floral. The man must have slept on a pillow of petals for all he knew. And now that orange hair was caressing his hardened cheek as he nuzzled and buried himself into it. His pet was non-resisting at the moment, accepting the fingers and hands at his rear to his fate, and the head in his hair.

Stayne had enough of the pants and his pet gasping with fear. He moved his hands to the front of the quivering man, and proceeded to rip the fly apart.

"WAHAAA!" Tarrant cried and grabbed Stayne's hands. He looked down to see the buttons had flown off and Stayne's hands were roughly pulling apart the front, exposing his semi-hard dick. He was sure the pause was because Stayne was busy studying his package. It abruptly ended when those large hands, oh so caressing, rubbed his heaving body, traced down his flexing stomach and teased the orange curls around his slowly rising organ. Tarrant was 'happy' indeed.

Stayne was quite surprised at the length of the hatter. Large for his size and already hardening it aroused him at how beautiful and yet so small it was. Insignificantly-sized compared to his massive cock (that tightened in his pants) eager to cause the Hightopp to shriek with orgasm. Currently his rabbit was squirming in his tight hold, feeling indeed the massive cock against his lower back as those larges hands seemed to swallow up his manhood.

"….." Tarrant shot his head back. He stared up at the Knave while his eyes threatened to shut at the wave of touch. Stayne had leaned over him having Tarrant's head tilted to the side to accommodate him as he peered down, pleasure obvious in his facial features, fondling and stroking the means to Tarrant's end. "….ah….nnnn…nnnnnnn…"

Tarrant shut his eyes and moaned. It was more intense than a foot had ever been. More pleasure than the teasing of a boot. And twice as electrifying and frightening, at the intensity, of someone touching him there that was not his own hand or a red velvet chair. If he hadn't been so afraid and dominated by the alpha-male, he would have come already.

The hands pumped him and teased him. Stayne's thumb kneaded his sensitive head causing the hatter to buck and claw. The rabbit was losing balance and was completely dependent upon the stature of the Knave behind him to keep him from falling to the floor. Hands still half-gloved reached about and gripped the arms, feeling them move as the muscles worked. The pumping intensified and he moaned again…up and down he belted out a high-pitched moan with each motion.

The only sounds, if one dared to listen at the door, would be what sounded like a woman with a frightening-moan, heavy masculine breathing, oily-voiced naughty words and the sound of pumped flesh.

Tarrant might as well been a weak creature of the female sex, what with his failing wailing voice and feminine form thrusting into the large hand.

Stayne burned and groaned watching his 'lover' writhe and fight the pleasure. The resistance the hatter put up against the overwhelming sensations was making his moans twice as painful, his breath twice as labored, his hands gripping his supporting arm like he was in the clutches of death…but oh, his face, red and white as the man stared at the ceiling choking, sputtering, wailing his cries. The Knave, foul as he was encouraged the dose of shame and hurt by spoonfuls of words.

"Slut…whore…you like that do you hatter? Oh you little fucking bitch…that's right, cry, no one cares except me. I'm going to make you come and you're going to like it. I know you will you crazy…dirty…freak…bastard…"

He knew Stayne was there. Stayne was actually there. His body, felt complete at the pain. It came from all sides of pain, humiliation, shame and those biting words that indeed he felt dirty, a slut, a whore, a whimpering girl.

Alice would not approve.

"I'm…I'm a slut…s-s…Stayne…" He blurted out from the pressure…and the vigorousness of the hand milking his throbbing.

"Yes you are." He replied breathlessly and licked the top of his head.

His foot-whore curled his toes and arched violently when the Knave tugged and squeezed him with a surprising, almost climatic motion. His sight was lost and he cried out. It was muffled when he bit Stayne's arms, gnawing and muffling himself and his 'slutty' behavior.

The man being bitten in question growled and moaned breathlessly from the pleasure of the nibbling. Noting how Tarrant's feet were twisting, he soon connected that feet and suckling said-feet were supplementing his diet of sex.

Tarrant's mouth was prodded by Stayne's fingers. Whimpering 'Stayne' again his mind was going blank, the pleasure at an almost complete level. Images of blooming eye-flowers and mindless rutting was in his head. Not even his usual words were forming. His bucking went faster and faster as craved the willing release from Stayne's hands. Instinct took over. He sucked those fingers, those tasty cherry-flavored flesh that he immediately imagined a foot. Cries, moans and almost screaming was muffled from the fingers wriggling around his tongue in suction.

Abruptly it stopped.

"….nnnnnn…." Moaned the hatter. He finally was able to breathe better as he came down from his almost-high. The fingers he occupied himself with continued to do so as he gasped and wrapped his tongue around them. Quickly his throbbing need began to ache, along with his light-headed head at the lack of continued pleasure. In fact he would have to say that this time it hurt worse than he ever imagined.

Stayne's hand was a bit glad he stopped, though it really didn't take much for the smaller man to scream so much. The music of his moans was even more delicious than earlier when Tarrant writhed upon the floor…moaning like a loose woman. He smirked at the memory, and scooped him up in his strong arms when Tarrant started to fall and slide down his body.

Tarrant opened his eyes when the fingers were removed and found he was lifted up off the ground, almost bridal style in the long arms. He was a bit sweaty from the exertions of trying to stand up straight during the whole burning ordeal. He felt even the fast heartbeat of his captor as he was pressed close to the naked chest. Within seconds he was carried over to the table. Hard fine varnished wood covered with a red blanket and pillows scattered about. It was like a platform for...

"…no."

"No what?" Stayne replied with the slick and sly voice. He set his hatter on the table edge and before the orange man could protest again he was pushed down. Tarrant was flat on his back, a hand on his chest keeping the man down. Not as if Tarrant was immediately struggling in the first place, though. Tarrant was still hard, needy and laying there with his legs up and spread for any sort of entry the tall dark man chooses.

Tarrant hadn't fully given up however, as he squirmed and became less blushingly aroused. Resistance became futile in the moment when the Knave removed his hand and went to his own pants, pulling them off quickly. Now Tarrant was whimpering, staring once more at the length of the Knave that was eager to be buried inside him.

He became harder at the sight, breathing faster and faster as he began to imagine what the scoundrel would do to him. He imagined himself writhing beneath him on his back, legs spread and kicking as he felt a hard hot cock tearing his insides. _…ohmy…that…that is…w-wrong…_

"No. P-please." Tarrant stammered. His plea for begging it to not happen served as a hidden 'yes'.

Stayne clucked his tongue with a lusty smile. Simply the lips seemed, as Tarrant quickly hallucinated when he began to cry again for some emotional reason, to drip the oily tea, like his intentions were made perfectly manifest in the visual form of slick pulsing liquid of the devil.

"First, dear, your pants…"

Stayne reached and quickly, roughly, tugged the pants off his hapless hatter. The fabric met only sudden short resistance when Tarrant kicking out and grabbed, trying to keep them on.

He smirked at his pet fighting him again. How he missed resistance…

"A-Alice won't approve! P-please, PLEASE!" Tarrant was going frightened again. The suspense and the manner in which Stayne dominated him was intoxicating and frightening more so than ever before. His body was completely 100% exposed…as was the Knave. Both naked, pale skin-to-skin.

"Alice doesn't have to know. But its not Alice you should be worried about." The vile man reached out and grabbed his length to get another favorable reaction to emphasize his point.

_Oh…oh…_He whimpered and shut his legs. His pants were thrown off leaving his legs freely seen, shaking and pale. Nervousness came in waves with the flushing heat of two body parts: his blushing face and his pitiful erection. Pitiful in comparison that is. Stayne was almost twice as big. And the big hand that held him completely…

Tarrant was once again manipulated and stroked into pleasure once more. The aching grew and with it his words of protest into soft moans. He lost the use of his jaw for such things, it was now loose and spouting sounds of sex frequently more than he'd have liked.

"I hate you." He hissed out. His lip hurt as he bit it, staring down frightened at Ilosovic's hands touching his genitalia. The pulsing intensified, his moans rising in pitch as the fright levels built again. This time he was even more trapped. The cunning wolf had him pinned on a table. In fact he was _comfortably _pinned down because when he threw his head back, in a violent yank, it hit a pillow.

_What a whore I am to him. He gives me all the trimmings and trappings of a bed. _The freak nuzzled it and used it as leverage when his master gave another stomach-curling yank. He dug his face into it muffling the moan.

"Don't get too comfy princess." The tall man growled with delight. He was very satisfied with how things turned out perfectly. Just perfect.

Stayne lowered his hands down his honeysuckle's thighs. They lingered at the tight knees that seemed to be attempting to stick themselves together with some sort of glue that wasn't there. "No matter…" he growled suggestively to himself. He pulled his sweet harlot closer to him and, with a leg swinging over unto the table he pounced the man with a kiss.

Tarrant screamed into his mouth at the surprise. He struggling, writhing while the tall man growled in his throat during the ordeal. His head was grasped by the hair again, _oh my hair! Oh! _And his mouth open to the tongue. Knave conquered him easily with sweeps of the probing protuberance. Tasting tea and honey…sweet honey, sweet whimpers and skittish moans, silk-smooth skin under his hands as they traversed the small body.

The man was not without his strengths. Tarrant bucked and wriggled from the electricity being jolted into him from the tongue and heavy lips attacking his own. However upon doing so his own organ was being tortured by the friction of Stayne's abs against him. The ache, it burned him. The more he struggled and grappled the Knave (more like hugging and bringing the large man closer against his trembling form, instead of trying to claw his skin off) the more contact he had. He bucked one final time when Stayne intensified the slippery tongue battle, fully aware now that it burned him with ecstasy. He cried out long and hard when Stayne, the sexual bastard that he is slipped his hand under his back. It brought his little man close and pressed hard against his body, prolonging the squeal.

Tarrant sucked in air and continued to writhe and gasp, half-insane from the hand that squeezed his rump and ground his lower-body against rock hard muscles. He was left to smother into the crook of Ilosovic's neck, gasping and taking in the musky scent he craved. That scent that was the ingredient in madness. All he thought was madness and aching need. Breathing, madness, sex and grinding the frictional-place to get more of the vile sexual ache.

The madman whimpered when the hand went to his hips and flipped him over.

THUD. Whimper. Trembling anew. The hair tickled his back because his raven-man grasped his shoulders and began licking patterns down his back. Tarrant arched and stretched out to fight him. Stayne had none of that and pinned his arms down. The spine was lavished and licked, his back covered with sloppy hurried, frenzied kisses. His throbbing just stuck at the edge of the table and his body being caressed, stroked, rubbed in all the ways of the Knave. His skin was on fire and the tongue slavering his spine, up and up till it reached his ear was terrifying. The man whimpered beneath such might and such little things the other had just done to him, and will do even more.

His ear was suckled and ravished with attention. Tarrant whimpered and bent, which gave him more access to his neck and cheeks. How they yearned for the abuse the dark man gave him. At last, his body betrayed through tears and soft noises what he wanted. Stayne knew it full and aware: Tarrant writhed beneath him both in pleasure and in fear. He wanted and yet did not want.

"You want it don't you?" His midnight lover purred in his ear. Tarrant did want it, he wanted him to continue nibbling and biting his jaw line…

But he dared not say it. Yet.

"You want me…" He drawled and pressed against Tarrant's exposed body. He knew he'd meet with a sound of resistance, and there it was, an audible gasp as he rubbed his aching manhood against his beautiful bottom. "….to fuck you."

Pausing, Tarrant's breathing hitched. He raised his arms and clung to the pillow beneath his head as be buried himself in it.

"Isn't that right Tarrant?"

The Tarrant in question shivered at the use of his name. Ilosovic's voice was malicious and husky, no doubt because he also was filled with distracting lust. The little man whined as those marvelous hands went down his sides, tickling him slightly as they went along.

He commanded again. "Answer me."

Tarrant couldn't say it, so instead he shook his head. This earned a sudden suction at his neck: Stayne latched unto him growling like a ravenous leech, suckling and nipping at his skin in a frenzy! He fidgeted and whimpered loudly underneath the onslaught. His hands how they reached behind to cry and get him, but his left hand was pinned down, his right flailing and clawing the table as he experienced the over-load. His demon lover let him writhe and feel the full extent of the lips and tongue he craved on his flesh.

"When you lie, it only makes the taste sweeter." He suckled the flesh where he bit. Each bite left a mark and a choked gasp. Marks that he owned this little man's body and soul. _My prisoner…_

He truly did taste like honey. And when he licked his fingers and sought out the tight place he would violate, he knew his voice would fully be as sweet as honey in his ears.

Tarrant laid there moaning. He took it all in, his tongue and large mouth bruising him with pleasure. He mewed like a kitten but breathed hard with lust as he throbbed, almost painfully on the table. The sensations traveled through his skin and body warming him and pleasing him. That hand was abusing his flesh, if 'abuse' was truly the right word. It was wet now, and the thick finger plunged insi-

"NYAH! NO!" Tarrant yelped and arched back! The intrusion was quick and a bit painful, stretching him as he tightened and squirmed around it. No one but himself had even 'been there' before, and with only two fingers, at the most he'd ever done in his experimenting, it was shocking. Electric. Painful. Sudden, slick and in as far as the finger could go.

"Beautiful hatter, keep going!" Stayne laughed and leered. He kept his finger in the tightness while the Hightopp squirmed and squealed, saying 'no' over and over again. He planted one final kiss on his shoulder before rearing up and back on his feet, one hand keeping his prey down while the other was busy wriggling in the tight little ass. The entire procedure, the thrusting and prodding his finger did inside him elicited the most delicious sounds of shocking sexual torture he ever heard from anybody.

The hatter certainly kept going with his 'beautiful' sounds. He tried to move to his sides and curl up, to roll away, but he was held down. There was just enough strength on his lower back to keep him from doing so. He kicked out and curled his toes at particularly stretching movements. It was getting hard to relax when the tears continued, crying and realizing that indeed Stayne would take him in a way very much violating. Like he wanted…no, that he SHOULD NOT want.

Stayne now slipped in two fingers. More gasps and trembling ensued.

"N-no…I can't…S-Stayne…oh LISTILVER!" Tarrant hissed and moaned, painfully when they further stretched him.

"Relax my nonsensical creature." Ilosovic cooed and caressed his body more nicely. Tarrant's suffering under this onslaught was wearing the man down, that is in the dominating sort of way. Stayne used his words carefully to cause enough power, evil and slickness to control the man beneath him. Tarrant was quite controlled.

Soon enough after some other mumbled words of dominating encouragement he felt the Hatter give way to his fingers. Tarrant now lay trembling, relaxing and accepting the fate as quickly as he had screamed and fought it. Sweet little Tarrant now buried his face into the pillow, sobbing and chewing the fabric. His moans were stuttering as he choked on his little sobs. The creamy skin paled considerably as he accepted his submission.

Now with three fingers, slipping more easily into the relaxed hatter, he knew the man was ready. Actually he wasn't, but it was as close to ready as he ever could be.

Tarrant moaned softly into the pillow when his rapist slipped his fingers out. His void felt a bit empty, he was just starting to like the feelings the fingers gave. Alas they were no longer there. He knew what was next. He felt the heat slip between his cheeks, wet and lubed from the container Stayne picked up, two large hands prying him apart…and that's when he knew there would be something bigger and worse to be shoved up inside him. He didn't know if he could relax himself to accept it.

He shuddered violently and curled the pillow in his arms, in a small attempt to hide his shame as he spread his quivering legs apart. The tip was already prodding itself inside and those large hands pulled him apart for the taking. What he would experience would be forever remembered as the day he was fully violated in more ways than the destruction of all he held dear…it was the destruction of his own sanity.

Tarrant had no warning. With a grunt Stayne slipped inside his darling honeysuckle all the way. It took a few seconds as he immersed himself into the writhing tightness, till his groin was pressed against the soft round bottom. Beneath him the man arched and wailed to the heavens in a long, aching cry. It ended after awhile, which Stayne didn't mind at all the length of his howl, with slow steps into sobbing and squealing. Tarrant's arms shot out and grappled the table cloth/blanket to steady himself, to watch him claw and flex his body at the long, heavy intrusion inside. Ilosovic enjoyed the whole thing, his hands gripping his boney hips to keep him steady while he purred with pleasure. He even decided he didn't even need to use the gag on him, his hatter was just fine the way he was screaming.

Tarrant's mind was whirling. Heat and stretching tore at his senses at the overload of nerves and terrified wonder. He had never been filled so _complete _and so _hurt _and blanked with _suffering_…

"…oh…" The pale man stammered out in his sweet voice. He realized, over his gasping, gulping need for air and wet nose he was no longer able to talk properly. Another squeal came as the Knave slipped out…and thrust back in. Tarrant obliged him with another wail. "Ahhhh! Ah!"

"Tight…little…slut…" Stayne grunted as he began to pull halfway out, and powerfully thrust his in, pull out, and in, out and in…a hard, slow rhythm that rocked the body he was fucking into spasms and squealing, Tarrant being ground into the table with each heavy thrust. It milked him of his voice, and his body arched and quaked to take it all in with each, deft movement.

His every string was being bowed like a master at his cello, droning out heavy, deep resounding notes with calculated, heavy movements.

Stayne could not keep this up for long. His masterful strokes that caused so much torture was not causing the full amount of pleasure he needed. Stayne uttered a soft cry when he picked up the pace, pulling Tarrant's hips out and in as he stood immersed in the tight channel. Tarrant squealed like a pig.

"W-WILL YOU P-PLEASE STOP R-RAPING ME?" Tarrant was going to ask politely but it turned into a loud stammering cry, ruining the demanding tone he tried to convey. His body shook with each pummel as it picked up the pace and sensation. His voice and moans were shaking and his brain wiggling loose in his head.

"Dear Tarrant…heh…its too late my…sweet…" He was amused instead of obliging, snickering in between his words and groans. His small laughter cowed the hatter even further.

Ilosovic's voice was even more terrifying. His usual weasly sound was huskier and wispier, deeper and penetrating his ear in a soul-crushing way. As he lay there with the barrage of thrusting he couldn't help but continue to cry.

Then it hit him. He choked again, coughing as his body revolted with familiar pleasure. A place he was never touched was struck when Stayne's cock angled a bit. He throbbed and coughed again, hiding his girlish moan in an act of intense concentration despite the distractions.

Stayne's grip had just moved to the man's shoulders when he realized he hit it. The two coughs had a distinct ring of gut-wrenching pleasure. Pausing his thrusts he angled and shifted about, trying to find it again. He did, and this time hatter could not cough to cover it up. It was truly a pure moan.

"My oh my what a sight…" Ilosovic cooed triumphantly. He slowly moved, stroking his honeysuckle's insides fueling more moans. Tarrant gasped and bit into the pillow to gag himself. Still he continued to voice the pleasure. His drool from his lax mouth and burning body seemed to metaphorically drip the last of his brains.

"Don't hide it from me Tarrant!" The man growled and ripped the merciful pillow from the teething hatter. Now, at last, the hatter's moans were clear and loud, leaving him nothing to fully hold unto.

Tarrant needed substance, both hand, foot and mouth. Stayne thrust hard in that moment causing the hatter to buck and moan again…and again…and again, Stayne's manhood stroking his little prostrate into excitement.

Stayne felt the quivering underneath his hands as he throttled himself inside the submissive man. Tarrant's moans and squeals were the most delightful sounds he had ever heard. Better than when he licked his feet, even sweeter and mind-blowing when he stroked him…no, when they shared the same pleasure, inside his lithe and feline body, the man was at his most broken.

The hatter was no more. He was no longer a Hightopp, nor human, nor of Wonderland or Underland…he was in these moments a pitiful creature who enjoyed himself and soaked up the pleasure of being victimized.

A whining kicking rabbit, who's feet were sorely left out of the pleasure and rough movements inside him. The snare that captured him was the mere sound of his voice.

A mounted cat in heat by the Tom who clawed his back, regardless of the lack of Tarrant's female body parts.

Prey for the tall midnight wolf.

A whore.

"I c-c-c-can't f-fight a-anymore!" He whimpered out when his rapist _oh my glorious master _leaned in to fuck him at a vigorous pace, hot breath at the back of his head and neck. His own erection was hurt and aching, un-satisfied against the edge of the table as he was ground into the table. No pillow, no nothing…his mouth, he wanted to muffle his cries, to suck something, anything…that's where his hand went. Another wave of pleasure and he lost himself to suckle his fingers.

"You are…denying yourself…still…what a lie, slut…" Grunted the Knave, riding the little orange pony. "Keep fighting…I love it…"

"S-slut…" The pony 'neighed' back, lost and rutting for more friction.

"Yes you are. Fucking slut. Tea-drinking pansy…"

"I…I…am a slut…" The pony 'whinnied' dejected and blushing. The simple words and accepting such a horrific station in life, which would describe how wanton his inexperienced actions of sex sounded like, made him arouse even more. The way each movement inside that shifted back and forth, at excruciating speed, threatened him closer and closer to his shameful orgasm.

"Yes…yesss…" Stayne growled and chuckled again. His thick hands massaged the back of the finger-sucking, tear-cheeked slut. He was close, but not close enough. The tight channel took his entire girth very well, with PLENTY of protest. Sweet sounds of sex, moaning, of fluids and flesh, grunts and the table creaking. Tarrant just about chewed his own fingers off. He couldn't even hear properly anymore, he was so close…just a hand down there and…

Stayne's mouth was hungry. What better to take the hatter than to face his beautiful eyes in the midst of such pleasure?

Tarrant felt half relieved when he pulled out. His body began to ring with soreness, emptiness and unsatisfication. The pony was now spending time gasping to gain his breath back, to calm down from the storm of the gut-eating margarine-wasps that fluttered in his stomach. It was short lived though for the limp sweaty ragdoll.

He was turned over, now facing the ceiling and his chest cooled from the air upon it. His hands moved from their place at his sides up to his body. He clutched his fingers, twisting their wet-selves in nervous agitation. He had every reason too, for he looked down (after wiping his eyes with the back of his hand) to fully see what was going on. Stayne was glistening with sweat and, the lower area, large swollen and slick. Those hands, torturously tempting went up his shaking legs, lifting them up and over his broad shoulders. Looking further up despite previous warnings to himself, Tarrant quaked at the sight and sensation of his thighs against his chest and his feet up in the air: his legs could not reach and dangle over Ilosovic's broad shoulders.

"Your lips quiver when you're frightened." The midnight man huffed, his hands up and down the sweet thighs. He nuzzled his darling's shin, licking the skin. Sensation clouded him as he only tasted sweet honey and flesh. He peeked his eye open to find Tarrant was now chewing his fingernails, twitching as he watched the thick tongue dart up the side of the ungainly calf.

Tarrant's feet begged to be licked once more. The tongue teased him and he tensed and wriggled his feet, allowing the exaggerated sensation of wet tongue to make him burn even more. His eyes, so wide and watching, became rested: eyes half closed as he gurgled a moan when that sweet thick tongue and hands bent it down, to suckle the foot.

It was sweet as honey. The dark man delighted himself sampling the foot once more, sending the hatter closer to the edge. Alas he himself was near the edge and was getting cold without the tightness of his little rabbit…he moaned around the toes just thinking it again, swaying where he stood, suckling. Tarrant could certainly do without a mouth on his foot when Stayne would ride him to a gallop…

Tarrant began to cry again. The momentary lapse of reason was breaking through as throbbing pain and pleasure came from below. What a slut, what a slut indeed to crave him hurting him, to lick his feet as if it was sweet candy. It was already true before, how could he change it now? Stayne fucking him was the fantasy he craved. Stayne hurting him, over and over, taunting as he would drive him to a dubious climax…

His darling hatter moaned and shifted on the table. The little pony was impatient. Of course, Ilosovic was too, and as he reluctantly licked his lips from the foot he reached down, scissoring the rectum open again. The affect was delicious for his pony, who sniffled and placed his hands to his sides, gripping the edge of the table for support. The knuckles were already white and his sweet painted lips wide for breathing and moaning. Tarrant's blush was the main indicator of his enjoyment of the abuse.

"Say my name." Stayne commanded, sending a shiver down Tarrant's spine.

Tarrant's fight was still there however. It wouldn't go away, for it was quite necessary for the full enjoyment of this sadistic sex. He shut his lips, breathing hard through his nose. Stayne's tip was just inside, pulsing and teasing, threatening a moan from the rebellious hatter.

"Say it. Slut. Scream it." Stayne was even more thrilled at the refusal, the pony not answering his calls. A little encouragement of the physical sort was needed. His hands would supply that.

The hatter grunted and bucked slightly, moving away from the threatening penis at the feathery caress of the larger man. Tarrant removed his fingers, quivering and biting his hand to muffle himself. His own penis throbbed harder and harder as he was stroked once more. Those hands teased up his body, tickling and caressing his average belly and chest. His squeak was loud to his own ears when Stayne bent over more and tweaked his nipples, tugging and twisting with a smirk. He stared at his hungry expression, the teeth in the smile glinting in the orange light. It made him blush more, bite harder and tuck his legs back up in defense against the lust trying to kill his brain.

"The more you fight…the more I enjoy it. You don't want me to enjoy it, do you?" The Knave savagely growled.

_Actually I do. _But Tarrant couldn't say it, it would ruin everything. His eyes welled up with another batch of tears at this. His hand now dreadfully hurt and he removed it. Unfortunately that had an opposite effect because, his lips free and non-biting, were licked. Stayne's presence in his face, tasting the hint of flavor came as quick as it left. Tarrant barely had time to exclaim his arousing shock when another shock came, also arousing. His foul-minded Knave went to his nipples that were previously pinched and were bitten, licked and suckled in the small moments. His body exploded with heat and he revolted this, squirming and grabbing Stayne.

It had been so few times Tarrant had touched the Red Knave on purpose. In the dungeon he was strung up so he couldn't. Just earlier it was merely the feet, legs, abs and cock he was forced to engulf. Then his sides and muscled lengthy arms, but he could not comprehend the feeling of them under his hands. Now he had almost hugged the villainous man in his attempt to claw and push him off.

He realized this as he grasped the scalp. The hair upon his head was wispy, black and thick, inky and silky as he clawed the Knave's scalp. He gasped, other than the sensation of his left nipple so clamped between teeth, at this, and for a few seconds forgot the purpose of why his hands were running through his enemy's gorgeous hair.

Stayne was quite aware of the hatter pawing his hair and scalp. However, he was quite the dominant and knew the hatter was not 'distracted' enough to fully be _pawing my hair, clinging and erratic breathing in sex, screaming…_and so he was not fully entranced by this behavior. A quick glance up confirmed the curious and flabbergasted look in the wet grass-green eyes. The slender hands continued to run and caress his hair and cheekbones, sending pleasant sensations. In fact there was a soft purr from Tarrant's chest as he felt a bit of _odd _happy distraction…

It ended abruptly. Stayne scowled and nipped and licked his way down the citrus kitten's chest. Another pulse of blood to his manhood came with each tensing and 'nng!' of the hatter, suffering from the dull bites that reddened his flesh. Stayne kept back a groan of pleasure to maintain control and on-task: to hear his slave submit and say his name as he did times before…

Hatter's attention lapsed into mindless pleasure again. He felt wetness, heat, and the distinctly a tongue and…teeth…!

"STAYNE! OW! AHH!" The man dared not buck into the toothed maw. It ground and made an unpleasant sensation around his immersed manhood. The dull teeth gnawed the cock, the tongue soothing and lapping around the shaft of the quivering hatter. Stayne pulled away, smirking as he licked the precum from the tip.

"More hatter, more." He growled pleased. Tarrant, once started saying the name could not stop. The Knave continued to bless his erection with his mouth. It was even sweeter than his toes. It fit nicely in his mouth and the back of his throat, not too big but not too insignificantly small. Up and down he went, keeping his unblinking gaze upon the features of Tarrant as the poor man belted out his name.

It felt better than a hand. It was warm and suckling him. His voice and body was being milked by the mere mouth of the enemy. Tarrant forced his eyes open, breathlessly saying Stayne over and over again in his soft voice. Daring once more to look he looked down…this was helped at a powerful force of suction the Knave gave, making Tarrant reel with ecstasy.

"…S-Stayne…ah…" Tarrant gasped out and reached to the Knave. He once more grasped the silky hair, watching and gripping as the head moved up and down on his shaft. Stayne bobbed up and down, his lips tight around the swollen member, the tongue easily slipping around the hot flesh. The more Tarrant squealed his name the more he sucked. It was quite easy, considering how a bit larger he was in comparison.

Hatter felt even more pleasured when he began bucking with abandon, thrusting into the wet cavern that suckled him. It was because the midnight man with his ever-burning gaze stared unceasingly at him. Watching him moan and shake as he wrapped his legs over the tall man's shoulders. Squealing, moaning the name over and over with the welcomed pain throughout. Hating it was wanting it, wanting it was not wanting…it reached equilibrium in the ensuing moments, as he fucked that mouth, toes and foot against the bent back of the man, and his limits so close…

Once more the Knave denied him satisfaction.

Tarrant was so mindless it took him a few seconds to slow down his thrusting. He peeked an eye open realizing he was trying to make love to the air. Stayne chuckled and licked his lips, watching the man's blush return. This display of helplessness was simply divine. The hatter was completely under his control at last. Needing him. Needing his touch and sex.

_…no…what have I done to deserve this…_he wailed in his head, as he wailed pitifully aloud. His cock burned and seemed to be on fire. He could barely feel when Stayne mounted him once more, leaning over him as the savage man began to stretch him once more. Another coat of lube was applied, another breath, and another howl from his drying throat as he entered him once more.

"Tight…tight…ah yes." Stayne murmured as he began to throttle him. No mercy this time, no pause to get ready. His whore was willing to take anything. In fact the whore liked it: squealing and moaning and his legs parting for it. Tarrant's tears would seem to say _no _but, in twisted half-logic, Tarrant embraced the sex. It all meant _yes, hurt me._

_ Fuck me you giant of a man. Tear my body apart._

Stayne closed his eye with a groan as he delved with speed into the vessel. The thoughts coursed through his brain as he imagined the hatter chanting them into his ear.

_You burned my village. Now burn my body with your sex._

"Stayne…h-h…har…hard…er…" The Hightopp whimpered, constricted with hurtful pleasure.

_I don't really deserve this, but I am after all your prisoner. I've annoyed you all these years, unintentionally flirting my body in front of you._

The Knave chuckled. The tone of the hatter's moans and the begging for more and more was different. It was arousing. Submissive. Breathless and sounding like the hatter was just killing himself saying such things. He obliged and leaned over, able to penetrate deeper.

_I know where Alice is. That fucking little girl in that pretty blue, but you're going to have to break me first. Perhaps I'll sing, tell her where she is. Just a little harder and I'll be your slave. I'll lick your boot. I'll even wear her dress when you kill her. It won't match my eyes though. _

Ilosovic freely panted. His elbows rested on the table, his feet planted on the floor as he fucked the living daylights out of his pony. Tarrant arched and threw his head back, moaning 'h…hhh…har…haa…' unable to finish the word. His face was the most beautiful masterpiece ever painted, and the tightness around his throbbing cock…priceless.

_Hatter by day. Your pet at night. I'm screaming out to you from the depths of your phallocentric tyranny. You Knave, you scoundrel…how…how savage! You're only going to hurt me. I must be hurt. Hurt me._

Tarrant's lips burned for Stayne's, or at least a foot. That cherry dark flesh of lips he wanted, badly. Simply the passionate growls and moans of the oily-voice that panted above his face just inches away was not satisfying his need to be pleasured…certainly the need to be dominated was sufficient.

_Your hair is like the raven. Fuck me on a writing desk._

Stayne grunted as he rocked back and forth, letting the friction lull him to near orgasm. Tarrant's moaning was erratic along with his breathing and his toes curled into twisting shapes in the air. Sweat glistened again on their bodies. One erection sheathed inside while another was teasingly being sometimes touched by the convulsing abs that provided the power behind the thrusts.

_Ahh! I'm your slut. Oh…ooh…make me bleed…and I will make you come…_

"Oh f-f-futterwacken…" His slave wailed and coughed, indicating the spot was now being reached to excruciatingly sexual heights. Stayne grinned and almost drooled on him, as pleasured as he was, noticing the painted lips smile briefly. Only making him enjoy this more as he continued the sexcapade.

_Vent your frustrations upon me. Crush me under the heel, whip my undeserving body. Watch it flinch and squirm. I'm mad you know, it's okay, I'm already too damaged to repair._

Stayne was distracted with his arousing thoughts and fucking, which he, mad with pleasure, accepted the Hatter's mouth. Tarrant had reared up and wrapped his arms around the torso and had smashed his lips against his. Considering how bent Stayne was and his head lowered to enter the small man, Tarrant was at a barely perfect height to snog the tall man. Tarrant's hands tingled when he wrapped around and was close against the large chest, and his mouth and tongue needingly kissing the man.

_I'm quite full of surprises when I get used to things._

The Knave, pleasured at the mouth, accepted the act of submission with gusto. He tongued the man back, exploring the small mouth as he continued the rhythm. Saliva sweet with pleasure and honey 'gasmed his taste buds. The other tongue wriggling and fighting his as he swept the inside cheek and tea-stained teeth was even more delightful. Stayne shivered at his shoulders as he grabbed the nest of Tarrant's hair and pushed down, the collision making a thud. Tarrant's head was supported on the table as the vicious Knave raped his mouth. Tarrant mewed, mewling and kissing back with eager hunger. Saliva was exchanged, their nether's pleasured, his mouth open to the invasive tongue that fed him. Stayne was rewarded with purrs again, sudden and dissipating quickly when his thrusts shut his voice. Ilosovic was free to moan as loudly as he wanted, as weak and pleasured as he could because the mouth muffled his own cries, and Tarrant's own shaking feminine sounds were loud enough.

Tarrant shook and lost control of his vocal box when the sex turned into wild fucking. The table creaked and vibrated under the onslaught. His member was aching worse and worse, the sensation in his gut and tightening balls cleared every thought from his mind. Both were sharing rapid breaths. Stayne kissed him once more before letting out a cry, shaking and close himself. Tarrant cared not for the weakness, he didn't even see his pleasured red face. All he felt was his prostrate and anus being molested at a frightening speed, his body moving with it, a hard cock up his body, his own hand reaching down to touch himself, his legs wide open, his voice spewing forth yelps and screams...

…and he smiled, so close to releasing his insanity.

That is till his molester snarled like a beast and bit down on the orange man's shoulder.

"OHHH! OOH STAYNE!" His hand sloppily jerked himself trying to orgasm. The pain became pleasure making his eyes swim in warped rainbows.

The Stayne in question began to ravish his slut's neck, suckling and even simply placing his mouth clamped over the flesh…gnawing the edge of neck to shoulder. His manhood burned and felt close to fully claiming the small man as his own.

_Just a bit more…_

Grunting and heaving. Snaking an arm underneath the back of the convulsing hatter who kept crying out, feeling pain with each stroke that did not send him over the edge.

Stayne grappled his hatter, _his _hatter…and locked his eye with the wide-open, spaced and pleasured sight of the madman.

"You're mad."

At long last Tarrant had found his almost-release. Tarrant choked out his wail at first, cutely coughing it when a particularly intense thrust prolonged its stay in his hole. Then the bricks came tumbling down from his house of a brain.

_S-savage…_

"FUCK ME, DAMN YOU ILOSOVIC. PLEASE. OH G...GOD…PLEASE!"

Sporadic and twitching, Ilosovic refusing to move inside him. On the cusp, the BRINK of pure satisfaction. The Knave knew it.

"Why?" Stayne managed out with a groan.

Tarrant feverishly twitched and continued to pump himself. Stayne didn't mind though. Tarrant completely needed him to finish him off, in some psychological insane way. The thought almost made him come right then, at how successful he was.

"BECAUSE IF I…I…STAYNE FUCK ME. RAPE ME. PLEASE! OH P-PLEASE pleasepleasepleaseplaseplease…" Tarrant's demanding voice of sexual frustration died down quickly into pitiful whimpers. Whining. His other hand pawing him as his master, always in control, did not dare move him to the point of climax.

Stayne continued to smile down at him.

"More, hatter." He slurred his words.

"Please…p-please Stayne…please finish me…please give…give it to me…please…oh please…" The madman babbled. He was even crying now, barley keeping his eyes open. Submission attacked him. He cried, he began to sob, his aching hurting him, hurting him so bad and painful. He shook and reached to his master's face, only gracing his fingertips across the surface of his cheek as the Knave pulled away. Hatter pawed the air whining and blubbering, sniffling and burning up.

"…please…"

Stayne pulled out slightly, denying both their release, prolonging the suffering the pony was going through. He was reared up and dominant, simply basking in the writhing body beneath him who pleaded for his sex.

"Show me." He caressed the fluttering eyelashes of his pet. "Prove it you little bitch…"

No sooner the words hissed from his mouth the hatter had taken his offered hand and began to lick his fingers. Stayne balanced from the pillar of his arm felt and watched the lips engulf his hands. Tongue and whimpering ensued as Tarrant began to milk the invisible sustenance. He needed it, needed this warmth, instinctually sucking and grasping the arm as he thrust the fingers two at a time in and out of his mouth. He cried at this, knowing that this was easing the pain in his brain through forcing abuse.

The hand's owner let the kitten do all the work. He was pleased and panting above the small man who forced his hand to abuse his mouth. At last he withdrew the fingers, this time curling the hand to claw his own face. Stayne was too horny to be disturbed though at the feel of his own hand being curled and made to claw, wet, down the sobbing face of a pleading man. The hand went clawing further, now rubbing and caressing his chest and neck.

"Please. Please Stayne. Please. Please. Please." His pet breathed, barely hitching his words as he moved the hand lower. Stayne just towered there, shocked and pleasured at his hand touching such skin. He felt the man quiver when his palm reached the ginger curls around a very throbbing penis. It was insidiously delightful.

"You really want me? Tell me how much of a whore you are." He cackled. He felt the legs around him falter at the sound of his voice.

With a gulp the slut began. "I'm a whore." The voice was croaking and wheezy.

" I am…a-a slut. A dirty slut. D-dirty nasty…" His voice became weaker with a soft moan when he placed Stayne's hands upon his aching self. "I'm so d-dirty that I should be w-whipped and b-belted…"

It was incredible music. "Yes Tarrant. You will be." He husked.

"Fuck m-me I'm a…b-bitch!" He gasped and shut his eyes when Stayne's hand finally responded, just gently stroking the underside of the reddened shaft. The small hands left to grasp himself, to steady the hardness to the tickling fingers. So close indeed, so close…

"Yes I will. You bitch." Stayne murmured and bent down again, sliding back in further. The hatter seemed to melt and shook extremely hard, making Stayne groan at the vibrations.

"Yes I am. YesIam. Slut. Fucking slut. I'm the s-son of a damned kindangen mertder…please make me come…please sir…S-Stayne…" The man begged when the hand left him once more. "Please m-master, please sir sir s-sir SSIRR! AHH! AH! OH! MPHF! MMH..hfff…phfff…mmnff…nngg…"

Stayne growled. He was satisfied, but if he wasn't already so pleasured at the sounds of his pet he would have continued to have the hatter berate himself even more. He had shoved his fingers into the open mouth, which caused the biggest blush he had ever seen on the hatter's white face. Sweet Tarrant took it, moaning and whimpering the wanted abuse as he let the fingers jab, probe, and be sucked in rhythm like the sex-fiend he is.

"Good girl."

And then the sex began again.

It was vicious, hard and powerful. He pummeled the prostrate speedy and hard, breathless and eager to explode. He had enough of pleasantries…all he wanted now was to finish inside the broken, slutty, burning, squealing, effeminate man.

Tarrant's body blossomed like flowering tea just twinkling. At last he would release, at last there was permission. Wave after wave of pleasure went through his body at every inside contact of the Knave's giant member.

_I am the victim. I am the raped. He hurts me and pleases me so. And now I'm going to…to…_

"**I'm…I'M GOING TO…ILOSOVIC! S-STAYNE! AH…AHH!" **

"T-Tarrant…oh…"

He felt hot wetness spew across his stomach. The liquid, a sign of the hatter's shame for this horrific moment sent the Knave spiraling into his final thrusts. Tarrant squealed, the fingers now removed from his mouth for him to freely scream. He was unaware of how howling it was, all he felt was gripping the tensed upper arms of the enemy and thrusting up, splattering jizzum all over himself and the man he moaned for. His back arched to take him deeper as he finally cried out his satisfaction like the fucking slut he was.

Stayne snarled and roared as he vigorously fucked. It came suddenly like a boiling of his insides that bubbled so hard he almost squealed when it over-flowed. He felt weak in that moment, shaking above the man he had impaled with closed eyes and lax mouth…dark moans all starting with the letter 't' floated from his mouth as he gave deep thrusts, stuffing the man with his seed.

Tarrant clung the best he could to the man as he was rocked at a slow speed. His vicious man was coming down from his orgasm. Tarrant huffed and garbled another moan as he orgasmed again, dry and whimpering pitifully as Stayne slowly fucked him, lulling his body. He felt incredibly full, creamed and stuffed, subjugated to the whim of the midnight man who panted above him. He opened his tear streaked eyes, shuddering and gasping like a fish to see the Knave's pleasured face. He was, indeed, beautifully dangerous, even in the midst of savoring the tight heat of a violated man. The body was bent, lithe and smooth gliding movements, further lubed of course, making squishy sounds. Obviously the twitch of the Knave's upper lip betrayed the decline of the sexual fantasies in his head.

_It was the best butter…_

Tarrant whimpered more. He panted, catching his breath and feeling how numb he was, how wet it was and hearing the squelching from the man who stayed inside him. Both heaved for breath, Tarrant staring up at him dominated and waiting for the man to finish. He lost his strength and fell back down, flat on the back, limp and accepting. Tarrant raised his arms, palms open, flat and limp. He felt more…submissive this way, even more pleased…causing him to softly mew and whimper.

Stayne swallowed and opened his eyes, panting heavily above the orange man. He was entirely thankful the Queen's bedroom was at the other side of the castle, and no one would even dare interrupt the Knave during coitus. It was quite a good thing, for it allowed the un-interrupted sex that had brought the hatter to his filthy little knees. Or at least on his back, howling and begging him to jerk him off. The pony was broken in. He would never be the same, certainly. Most certain.

Tarrant didn't even want to try to comprehend the shame he felt. He wanted to be hurt by Stayne forever, at any hour of day or night. He wanted to be chased up a tree and dragged down. To run for miles and collapse with exhaustion and let him take him on the dirt. To forever wage this war of queen against queen, that ensued that Knave against hatter would continue on and on…

The Knave slipped out, lumbering off and standing unsteadily. He bent and stretched, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he recovered, spent. His knees were of course weak, so he leaned over the table again to catch his breath. A bead of sweat dripped off his brow unto the quivering limp leg of the spread Tarrant. He looked at him, groaning as his mouth was begging him again to do something about it. His lips were dry, so he licked them as his panting was softening. At the sound of Tarrant whimpering he smiled and opened his eye, seeing it was from the fact he did, indeed, lick his lips. A breathless chuckle he gave making Tarrant blush more.

Tarrant's mouth watered, still craving oral sensation. His rear burned with soreness reminding him that sitting up might be quite painful. He watched his naked lover/rapist smile deviously at him, all a bit sweaty and slick from cum. In fact his own was smattered on the Knave's chest, messy and slick as pale as his flesh. Certainly the Knave was a man who was of noble birth, that despite wandering the wild wood all the time was obviously of the slick and perfection of the upper class. It showed in the beauty of his body.

"Lick me clean." Ilosovic spat. "Whore."

"D-dear me w-whatever fo…r…" He began but shut his trap immediately when the eye flickered with anger. Tarrant immediately was reminded of the terrible position he was in and how _good _it was to be submissive. Quite submissive. Stayne would have none of his wild personality at the moment to spoil his mood. It was certainly working…Tarrant bit his lip and shivered as he let himself fall down in the role and mindset that was mere seconds ago.

He sat up, wincing at the stretching. The orange rabbit spent a few seconds gasping and bent, accommodating his hurt body. He was even beginning to register the hickies and bite marks on his body, slightly stinging and adding more arousing sensation. He coughed to clear his throat, his frazzled head only reaching the crest of the Knave's pectorals. That was where he started. Once more he reminded himself how he hated this, but, his mouth and strange need conquered it. The flesh was offered and so he began slow experimental licks.

The tall man stood watching and feeling the feathery tongue lick up the sweat from his muscles. It was the perfect after-glow from such conquering sex he just made them experience. Tarrant was ensured to be his frightened dominated slave forever. Such was these memories he would forever 'cherish' as long as he lived. It was evident, he watched his orange kitten lick his flesh. The 'kitten' even grasped his sides to steady himself licking down his body…

Tarrant recoiled and snorted in disgust. The nauseous feeling in his stomach returned when he encountered the whiteness. He remembered the salty taste, definitely worse than the sweaty flesh he licked, and how he was made to swallow…then he had thrown up…then he was raped.

Stayne grinned at the cute, disgusted face his pet gave him. He even had the gall to look up at him, begging eyes and twitching lip definitely telling him _I do not like this at all._

"You will do as you're told. Lick and swallow."

Tarrant almost shook his head. Instead he allowed himself to cry a little and face the mess he was going to eat. Gingerly he leaned in and started to lap it up, wincing and trying not to gag his own cum as he swallowed. It was now cold to lukewarm, disgustingly salty and not tasty at all. Still the commanding growl and a hand wound in his hair urged him on to finish cleaning him up. The hand gripped him just firm enough to remind him that he WILL eat it till it's GONE.

And so Tarrant obliged by lapping every wet bit he could find. He continued to gag it down, fighting the queasiness that ruined his day again as he swallowed the semen. He cleaned up all the flesh…except the slick flaccid cock, smeared with it. With another dry gulp, a look of sadness up at the dominant Knave, he bent and licked the appendage clean. More sickness in his stomach.

After one final agonized lick off the tip the Knave pushed the hatter away, smiling at the weak and cringing face of his 'sponge'. Tarrant simply shut his eyes as he was nudged back, and laid himself on his side on the table, hearing Stayne dress himself. His hands went to his stomach cradling himself to keep the nausea down as he heard Stayne buckle his boots back on. Now he started to feel cold, naked still, his breath getting caught back.

Then he began to cry. No sex to distract, just eternal shame and comprehension. He acted horrible, he was enslaved from simple touches and demanded him to have sex with him. What kind of a man was he?

_Mad. That's what I am. I'm completely bonkers. And this time, I'm not a good person. I'm miserable. I'm gone forever._

Ilosovic turned his head back to the curled form that was now loudly sniffling. His pretty boy was chewing his fingernails and rubbing his face as he began to bawl. The man surely was bonkers and hurt. Even better was how weak emotionally he was, which delighted him even further. The vile man smirked as he dress himself at last, donning his cape, and bent over to kiss his pet goodbye in farewell.

Tarrant looked up and wiped his eyes to find the dressed Knave smiling down at him. Stayne spent this time leering at his sex toy as he clasped his cape on.

The hatter averted his eyes in shame. However it didn't last long when his captor bent even further down to plant a heavy kiss on his cheek. The man paled and opened his hands away from the face he was half hiding. Unfortunately that was a mistake, for Stayne pushed the man on his back and brutally kissed him.

Tarrant whimpered and moaned, the kissing was even more intense because he was so exhausted mentally and physically. The prodding tongue from the softly groaning Knave was all it took to open his mouth to the passion the man gave unto him. Soft, pleased growling ensued from his bedeviled rapist as he had free reign to taste and tongue the sweet flesh once more. This time it was saltier than usual, tasting a bit of himself and the man who he violated. He smirked as he went back in to maul and tug the painted lips with his teeth during the indulgent several minutes. The pony laid there letting him kiss and exchange tongue and taste. There was nothing else he could do anyways, he wasn't able to run, to even want to push him away, or make him angry. He was too tired and beaten to fight today. Besides, it was in fact a bit enjoyably humiliating…he seemed to like that a lot today.

At last the villain pulled away, leaving the poor naked man to just lay and watch him go. Stayne petted the smooth skin as he moved away, leaving a wake of goose bumps from their path. Tarrant just watched miserably crying his eyes out, already reddened and extra-miserable, as his master put his gloves back on and merely gave him a grin of utter dominance.

"I shall see you later, pet." He sneered, satisfied for the night. "Don't worry too much, I might be gentler next time."

With that Tarrant buried his head in his hands and sobbed, cried the last of sanity into his hands. Like a baby. A lame horse. A slave prostitute. The very last of the Hightopps was now to the lowly station of _this. _

The clicking footfalls of the booted feet died away as his vile enemy went about the room, snuffing out the candles. When that was done he left to the door, leaving the poor man to lay in almost utter darkness. He left him there on the table, sobbing and broken, a pile of porcelain limbs heaving on the table wracked with sobs. It was beautiful in the cold light of the moonlight, the red and black walls dark in night framing such a portrait. A slick, destroyed man was the centerpiece of the midnight masterpiece.

A man that would never know true satisfaction, for awhile at least, without him.

If Alice ever knew, well…it was unfathomable.

Tarrant didn't know if he would ever be right again.

As the door clicked shut, and he moved off the table dragging the wet blanket and pillows with him, he could barely moved. His pity and pain crippled his body, the only sound his whimpering cries and the rattle of the foot chain still attached. So he took the pillows and made a crawl to the pallet that was in the corner, his bed provided. The small cot would make do, he felt like he could sleep for ages. There he finally staggered unto the bed, muffling a cry into the pillows he dragged up to cuddle and hug. He pulled the red meager blankets over himself, still shivering however.

_Quite possibly, I might never sleep peacefully again._

The whimpering hatter tried to settle down to sleep a fitful dream. Squirming and shifting about uncomfortable and still crying, he knew he would now resign himself to horrible, arousing images of the thick tall man holding him, black hair against his neck with a soothing oily voice…that would be what would make him fall asleep. Those cooing weasly words his imaginary Knave would give him the permission to fall asleep, safe from everyone but Ilosovic Stayne of the pain of the outside world. Enslaved. Wanting and needing. If Alice didn't slay the Jabberwocky, he would certainly be doomed to repeat this night in an endless cycle.

_I will never tell her. She m-must be strong…_ He gulped and pulled the edge of the blanket close to blow his nose. _He will pay for this…but if he dies, how am I ever going to be happy again?_

_ Then again, what I need from him are things one shouldn't feel happy about in the first place._

He looked up through the windows to see a single star in the sky. It gleamed brightly like twinkled blue tea. The blackness around it reminded him of dark gloves and hair…but there it was, a small pinpoint of light shinier than a beetle's eye. Tarrant knew then how would, at least try, to get to sleep.

"T-twinkle…twinkle…little m-mercy…h-how I wonder…where t-thy art…"

He smiled at this, giggling.

His Knave of Hearts seemed to lack one.

But he, mad Tarrant…he had one.

_Had _one, however.

It was stolen. All on a Summer's day. By the Knave of Hearts.

It hurt him so.

_All the saddest people are mad…_

_

* * *

_

**A/N: Well there you go. Another smutty slashfic down the drain. Oh God I went really crazy on this one...**

**If you enjoy mindless slashfics of 'dominant male character raping young/lithe/femmish uke boy' be sure to check out my first one of DBZ's Cell/Frieza in _This is Hell. _Then I improved, this time with a one-horned (Phallic much?) sorceror and adorable frightened Eric the Cavalier in _Sweet Pea_, from the obscure fandom of the D&D animated series. I recommamend 'Sweet Pea' more though, but most of you readers wouldn't know the series anyways. Sigh.**

**For non-slashiness I have a whole smack dab of older fanfics that are stuffed with Mary Sues and self inserts. Last one was like, EARLY last year. OLD but still enjoyable works.  
**

**Finally I would like to thank my friends Kit and Andi for being on the 'Stayne-sexy-wagon' with me and the new friends I made being obsessed with this fandom. Its been so much fun I'm writing another horrific sexual fanfic...this time with a certain, oh, queen and dear Stayne-ie-boo?**

**As if I wasn't disgusting you guys out further.**

**Read and Review and may the prosper be with you, long!**

**Shoys.  
**


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